The man who discovered the use of a chair,
What a wonderful man!_
He used to sit down on it, tearing his hair,
Till he thought of a highly original plan.
For years he had sat on his chair, like you,
But his looks were grim_
For he wished to be famous (as great men do)
And nobody ever would listen to him.
Now he went one night to a dinner of state
In the proud Guildhall!_
And he sat on his chair, and he ate from a plate;
But nobody heard his opinions at all;
There were ten fat aldermen down for a speech
What a dreary bird!_)
With five fair minutes allotted to each,
But never a moment for him to be heard.
But, each being ready to talk, I suppose,
They cried, _for the Chair!_
And, much to their wonder, our friend arose
And fastened his eye on the eye of the Mayor.
‘We have come,’ he said, ‘to the fourteenth course!
for the Chair_,’ he said.
Then, with both of his hands, and with all of his force,
He hurled his chair at the Lord Mayor’s head.
It missed that head by the width of a hair.
What a horrible squeak!_
But it crashed through the big bay-window there
And smashed a bus into Wednesday week.
And the very next day, in the decorous Times
How the headlines ran!_)
In spite of the kings and the wars and the crimes,
There were five full columns about that man.
Oh, if you get dizzy when authors write
And you very well may!_)
That white is black and that black is white,
You should sit, quite still, in your chair and say:
It is easy enough to be famous now,
How the trumpets blare!_)
Provided, of course, that you don’t care how,
Like the man who discovered the use of a chair.