Face on the Bar Room Floor
              by D`Arcy
(as memorized by my good friend Joe Young)

It was a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there,
Which well nigh filled Joe’s barroom on the corner of the square.
As songs and witty sayings came through the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in, and posed upon the floor.

"Where'd he come from?" Someone said, "The wind must've blown him in."
"What does he want?" another cried. "Whiskey, rum, or gin?"
"Hey, Toby! Sic ‘em...if you’re equal to the work."
"I wouldn’t touch him with a fork." "He’s filthy as a turk."

The bantering the poor wretch took with staunch and goodly grace.
He even smiled, as though he thought he’d struck the proper place.
"Come, boys, I know there’s burly hearts among such good a crowd.
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud.

"Give me a drink…that’s what I want…I’m out of funds, you know.
When I had cash to treat the crowd, my hands were never slow.
What? You laugh as though this pocket had never held a söu;
There was a time when I was fixed as well as any one of you.

"Say, thanks. That braced me nicely. God bless you, one and all.
When I pass this good saloon, I’ll pay another call.
Give you a song? I can’t do that. My singing days are past.
My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out, and my lungs are failing fast.

"But give me another drink and I tell you what I’ll do�?BR>I’ll tell you a funny story…a fact…I promise you.
That I was once a decent gent, not one of you would think.
But I was, a few years back. Please, give me another drink.

"Fill it up, Joe. I’d like to put some life into my frame.
The little drinks you boys drink here are, to me, so awful tame.
Say…five-fingers…and corking whiskey, too.
Landlord, I thank you very much. And boys, my best regards to you.

"You’ve treated me pretty kindly, and I’d like to tell you how
I’ve come to be the dirty sot that stands before you now.
I was once a decent gent with muscles, frame, and health
And, but for one costly blunder, could have made a lot of wealth.

"I was a painter…not one that daubed on bricks and wood,
But an artist, and for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I could see the stars of fame before my eyes.

"I painted a picture, it was called The Cause Of Fame.
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and added to my name.
And then I met a woman…now comes the funny part�?BR>With eyes that petrified my brain and sank into my heart.

"Why don’t you laugh? It’s funny, that this vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman…and expect her love for me.
But it was so. And for those weeks her smiles were freely given.
And when her lovely lips touched mine, it carried me to Heaven.

"I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way.
And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise,
Said she’d like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.

"It took not long to know him and before the month had flown,
My friend, he, stole my darling. And I was left alone.
Ere the years of sadness have passed upon my head.
The jewel I loved, so tarnished, faded. Now, my love is dead.

"That’s why I took to drinking. Why, I never saw a smile.
I thought you’d be amused, and laughing all the while.
My friends…why, there are teardrops in your eyes.
Laugh, like me. It’s only babes and women who should cry.

"Say, give me that chalk with which you mark the baseball score,
And you’ll see the lovely Madeline upon this barroom floor.
If you’ll just give me another drink, I will be very glad
To draw, right here, the picture of the face that drove me mad."

Another drink…and with the chalk, the vagabond began
to sketch the face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,
With fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture…dead.