The Home Book of Verse Volume Iv Part 26

Now, see, where, focused on one head, The race's glories s.h.i.+ne: The head gets narrow at the top, But mark the jaw--how fine!

Don't call it satyr-like; you'd wound Some scores, whose honest pates The self-same type present, upon The Carabas estates!

Look at his skin--at four-score years How fresh it gleams and fair: He never tasted ill-dressed food, Or breathed in tainted air.

The n.o.ble blood glows through his veins Still, with a healthful pink; His brow scarce wrinkled!--Brows keep so That have not got to think.

His hand 's ungloved!--it shakes, 'tis true, But mark its tiny size, (High birth's true sign) and shape, as on The lackey's arm it lies.

That hand ne'er penned a useful line, Ne'er worked a deed of fame, Save slaying one, whose sister he-- Its owner--brought to shame.

They ye got him in--he's gone to vote Your rights and mine away; Perchance our lives, should men be scarce, To fight his cause for pay.

We are his slaves! he owns our lands, Our woods, our seas, and skies; He'd have us shot like vicious dogs, Should we in murmuring rise!

Chapeau bas!

Chapeau bas!

Gloire au Marquis de Carabas!

Robert Brough [1828-1860]

A MODEST WIT

A supercilious nabob of the East-- Haughty, being great--purse-proud, being rich-- A governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which--

Had in his family a humble youth, Who went from England in his patron's suit, An una.s.suming boy, in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute.

This youth had sense and spirit; But yet with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit.

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, His Honor, proudly free, severely merry, Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary.

"Young man," he said, "by what art, craft, or trade, Did your good father gain a livelihood?"-- "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, "And in his time was reckoned good."

"A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew!

Pray, why did not your father make A saddler, sir, of you?"

Each parasite, then, as in duty bound, The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.

At length Modestus, bowing low, Said (craving pardon, if too free he made), "Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade!"

"My father's trade! by heaven, that's too bad!

My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?

My father, sir, did never stoop so low-- He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."

"Excuse the liberty I take,"

Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you?"

Selleck Osborn [1783-1826]

JOLLY JACK

When fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and state, And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each, And right the land demented, Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach The way to be contented.

Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft, His chair, a three-legged stool; His broken jug was emptied oft, Yet, somehow, always full.

His mistress' portrait decked the wall, His mirror had a crack, Yet, gay and glad, though this was all His wealth, lived Jolly Jack.

To give advice to avarice, Teach pride its mean condition, And preach good sense to dull pretence, Was honest Jack's high mission.

Our simple statesman found his rule Of moral in the flagon, And held his philosophic school Beneath the "George and Dragon"

When village Solons cursed the Lords, And called the malt-tax sinful, Jack heeded not their angry words, But smiled and drank his skinful.

And when men wasted health and life, In search of rank and riches, Jack marched aloof the paltry strife, And wore his threadbare breeches.

"I enter not the Church," he said, "But I'll not seek to rob it;"

So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, While others studied Cobbett.

His talk it was of feast and fun; His guide the Almanack; From youth to age thus gaily run The life of Jolly Jack.

And when Jack prayed, as oft he would, He humbly thanked his Maker; "I am," said he, "O Father good!

Nor Catholic nor Quaker: Give each his creed, let each proclaim His catalogue of curses; I trust in Thee, and not in them, In Thee, and in Thy mercies!

"Forgive me if, midst all Thy works, No hint I see of d.a.m.ning; And think there's faith among the Turks, And hope for e'en the Brahmin.

Harmless my mind is, and my mirth, And kindly is my laughter; I cannot see the smiling earth, And think there's h.e.l.l hereafter."

Jack died; he left no legacy, Save that his story teaches:-- Content to peevish poverty; Humility to riches.

Ye scornful great, ye envious small, Come fellow in his track; We all were happier, if we all Would copy Jolly Jack.

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

THE KING OF BRENTFORD After Beranger

There was a King in Brentford,--of whom no legends tell, But who, without his glory,--could eat and sleep right well.

His Polly's cotton nightcap--it was his crown of state, He slept of evenings early,--and rose of mornings late.

All in a fine mud palace,--each day he took four meals, And for a guard of honor,--a dog ran at his heels.

Sometimes to view his kingdoms,--rode forth this monarch good, And then a prancing jacka.s.s--he royally bestrode.

There were no costly habits--with which this King was cursed, Except (and where's the harm on't)--a somewhat lively thirst; But people must pay taxes,--and Kings must have their sport; So out of every gallon--His Grace he took a quart.

He pleased the ladies round him,--with manners soft and bland; With reason good, they named him,--the father of his land.

Each year his mighty armies--marched forth in gallant show; Their enemies were targets,--their bullets they were tow.

He vexed no quiet neighbor,--no useless conquest made, But by the laws of pleasure,--his peaceful realm he swayed.

And in the years he reigned,--through all this country wide, There was no cause for weeping,--save when the good man died.

The faithful men of Brentford,--do still their King deplore, His portrait yet is swinging,--beside an alehouse door.

And topers, tender-hearted,--regard his honest phiz, And envy times departed,--that knew a reign like his.