Father is quite the greatest poet
That ever lived anywhere.
You say youíre going to write great musicó
I chose that first: itís unfair.
Besides, now I canít 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 thatís been taken by Claire.
Itís stupid to be an engine-driver,
And soldiers are horrible men.
I wonít be a tailor, I wonít be a sailor,
And gardenerís taken by Ben.
Itís unfair if you say that youíll write great
music, you horrid, you unkind (I sim-
ply loathe you, though you are my
sister), you beast, cad, coward, cheat,
Well? Say whatís left for me then!
But we wonít 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 Iíll be a perfectly marvellous carpenter,
and Iíll make cupboards and benches
and tables and ... and baths, and
nice wooden boxes for studs and
And youíll be jealous, you pig!