Father is quite the greatest poet That ever lived anywhere. You say youâ€™re going to write great musicâ€” I chose that first: itâ€™s unfair. Besides, now I canâ€™t be the greatest painter and do Christ and angels, or lovely pears and apples and grapes on a green dish, or storms at sea, or anything lovely, Because thatâ€™s been taken by Claire.
Itâ€™s stupid to be an engine-driver, And soldiers are horrible men. I wonâ€™t be a tailor, I wonâ€™t be a sailor, And gardenerâ€™s taken by Ben. Itâ€™s unfair if you say that youâ€™ll write great music, you horrid, you unkind (I sim- ply loathe you, though you are my sister), you beast, cad, coward, cheat, bully, liar! Well? Say whatâ€™s left for me then!
But we wonâ€™t go to your ugly music. (Listen!) Ben will garden and dig, And Claire will finish her wondrous pictures All flaming and splendid and big. And Iâ€™ll be a perfectly marvellous carpenter, and Iâ€™ll make cupboards and benches and tables and ... and baths, and nice wooden boxes for studs and money, And youâ€™ll be jealous, you pig!