A Good Fellow

Don’t call me a “Good Fellow”, please

     I do not like the term;

It smacks too much of freedom, ease,

     Of something lax, infirm.

Nine out of ten who go astray,

     Whichever way they go,

You’ll hear their friends and neighbors say,

     He’s a good fellow, though.

The man who keeps a dozen dogs

     Who can’t afford a pair,

Is a “good fellow” though his togs

     Are much the worse for wear.

The man who asks you up to drink,

     Who laughs “enough” to scorn,

Is a good fellow, so you think,

     Until his money’s gone.

Good fellows, too, are apt to be

     Quite careless of their own,

Are easy marks, so all agree,

     For those who want a loan.

Don’t call me a “good fellow”, please,

     Perchance you are my friend;

I may have much of lax, and ease,

     But I’ve no cash to lend.

Dec. 18, 1912