Arch Criminal

When muddled mentors take the stage To gird against our erring, They simulate an awful rage, They funk the task and straight engage A palpable red-herring. Fearing at higher marks to aim, The futile knuckle-rapper, With flaming words of bitter blame, Plays at the rather outworn game Of 'Flagellate the Flapper.' Altho', my sweet, you may be neat And winsome, too, from head to feet, In face and form a nymph complete, In manner softly winning; One touch of powder Number Two, And heaven's gates are closed to you; Tho' still ajar for those who do This sad world's heavy sinning. The man whose greed outstrips his need (While lesser folk deplore it) Is due for stern rebukes indeed. Yet, gently, brother; Why give heed To this? Be wise; ignore it. For, lo, this fellow may be rich Of social rank delectable. For bwetter curn the urgent itch To censure, lest you hurt him; which Would hardly be repectable. So, precious pet, they'd fain forget Sins of the mighty, while they fret O'er lip-stick, rouge and cigarette, And graver sinning palliate. As Public Enemy you rank Now No. 1 for those who shrank Ever from bigger game, and thank Their stars you can't retaliate.