THE GHOST-PLAYER by JOHN GODFREY SAXE

TOM GOODWIN was an actor-man,
Old Drury's pride and boast
In all the light and sprite-ly parts,
Especially the Ghost.

Now, Tom was very fond of drink,
Of almost every sort,
Comparative and positive,
From porter up to port.

But grog, like grief, is fatal stuff
For any man to sup;
For when it fails to pull him down,
It's sure to blow him up.

And so it fared with ghostly Tom,
Who day by day was seen
A-swelling, till (as lawyers say)
He fairly lost his lean.

At length the manager observed
He'd better leave his post,
And said he played the very deuce
Whene'er he played the Ghost.

'T was only t' other night he saw
A fellow swing his hat,
And heard him cry, "By all the gods!
The Ghost is getting fat!"

'T would never do, the case was plain;
His eyes he couldn't shut;
Ghosts should n't make the people laugh,
And Tom was quite a butt.

Tom's actor friends said ne'er a word
To cheer his drooping heart;
Though more than one was burning up
With zeal to "take his part."
Tom argued very plausibly;
He said he did n't doubt
That Hamlet's father drank, and grew,
In years, a little stout.

And so't was natural, he said,
And quite a proper plan,
To have his spirit represent
A portly sort of man.

'T was all in vain, the manager
Said he was not in sport,
And, like a gen'ral, bade poor Tom
Surrender up his forte.

He'd do, perhaps, in heavy parts,
Might answer for a monk,
Or porter to the elephant,
To carry round his trunk;

But in the Ghost his day was past, --
He'd never do for that;
A Ghost might just as well be dead
As plethoric and fat!

Alas! next day poor Tom was found
As stiff as any post;
For he had lost his character,
And given up the Ghost!

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