This figure here before you is a Macaroni Man,
Who is built, as you may notice, on a most ingenious plan.
His skeleton, I beg to state, is made of hairpins three,
Which are bent and curved and twisted to a marvellous degree.
His coat-sleeves and his trouser-legs, his head and eke his waist
Are made of superfine imported macaroni paste.
And if you care to listen, you may hear the thrilling tale
Of the merry Macaroni Man’s extraordinary sail.
One sunny day he started for a voyage in his yacht,
His anxious mother called to him, and said, ‘You’d better not!
Although the sun is shining bright, I fear that it may rain;
And don’t you think, my darling boy, you’d better take the train?’
‘Oh, no,’ said he, ‘no clouds I see,–the sky is blue and clear,
I will return in time for tea–good-by, my mother dear.’
Full merrily he started off, the day was fine and fair,
And to his great delight he found no dampness in the air.
You know if he gets wet, a Macaroni Man is spoiled,
And if he stands too near the steam, of course he may get boiled.
But our hero used precautions,–carefully he shunned the spray,–
And when the steam blew toward him, he just steered the other way.
Now, as the breeze was from the land, his course lay out to sea;
He sailed so far that he felt sure he would be late for tea.
He sailed, and sailed, and sailed, and sailed,–
he feared the dew would fall–
He tried to turn,–but oh, that steam! it would not do at all!
A single puff blew toward him, and it nearly cooked his face!
The mournful Macaroni Man felt sadly out of place.
But a happy thought occurred to him, ‘Ha, ha,–ho, ho!’ said he,–
‘I’ll just sail on around the world,–and then, it seems to me,
I’ll reach my home (according to a careful estimate)
In time for tea, although I’ll be perhaps a trifle late.’
Then merrily his gallant ship sped o’er the bounding main,
Quickly he crossed the ocean wide, he flew by France and Spain;
Covered the Mediterranean, spanned the Suez Canal,–
‘I’ll reach my home to-night,’ he thought, ‘oh, yes, I’m sure I shall.’
He skimmed the Red Sea like a bird,–the Indian Ocean crossed
(But once, in Oceanica, he feared that he was lost).
He passed Australia on the fly,–cut over Capricorn,
And as the sunset gun he heard, he swung around Cape Horn.
Still at full speed, he sailed due north, he rounded Cape St. Roque,
Crossed the equator, and found out the Gulf Stream was no joke.
He coasted by the seaboard States. Hurrah! all danger past,
Quickly he sailed the last few miles and reached his home at last;
His mother welcomed him, and said, ‘I’m glad there was no shower;
But hurry in, my bonny boy, I’ve waited tea an hour.’
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