Yea, I will smite! Grant me but “swerveless
wynd,”
And I will pipe a cadence rife with thrills;
With “nearness” and “foreverness”
I’ll bind
A “downflung sheaf” of outslants,
paeans and trills;
Pass me th’ “quenchless gleam of Titian
hair,”
And eke th’ “oozing forest’s
woozy clumps;”
Now will I go upon a metric tear
And smite th’ lyre with great resounding
thumps.
THE KING OF BRENTFORD’S TESTAMENT.
W. M. THACKERAY.
The noble King of Brentford
Was old and very
sick,
He summon’d his physicians
To wait upon him
quick:
They stepp’d into their
coaches
And brought their
best physick.
They cramm’d their gracious
master
With potion and
with pill;
They drenched him and they
bled him:
They could not
cure his ill.
“Go fetch,” says
he, “my lawyer;
I’d better
make my will.”
The monarch’s Royal
mandate
The lawyer did
obey;
The thought of six-and-eightpence
Did make his heart
full gay.
“What is’t,”
says he, “your Majesty
Would wish of
me to-day?”
“The doctors have belabour’d
me
With potion and
with pill:
My hours of life are counted,
O man of tape
and quill!
Sit down and mend a pen or
two;
I want to make
my will.
“O’er all the
land of Brentford
I’m lord,
and eke of Kew:
I’ve three-per-cents
and five-per-cents;
My debts are but
a few;
And to inherit after me
I have but children
two.
“Prince Thomas is my
eldest son;
A sober prince
is he,
And from the day we breech’d
him
Till now—he’s
twenty-three—
He never caused disquiet
To his poor mamma
or me.
“At school they never
flogg’d him;
At college, though
not fast,
Yet his little-go and great-go
He creditably
pass’d,
And made his year’s
allowance
For eighteen months
to last.
“He never owed a shilling,
Went never drunk
to bed,
He has not two ideas
Within his honest
head—
In all respects he differs
From my second
son, Prince Ned.
“When Tom has half his
income
Laid by at the
year’s end,
Poor Ned has ne’er a
stiver
That rightly he
may spend,
But sponges on a tradesman,
Or borrows from
a friend.
“While Tom his legal
studies
Most soberly pursues,
Poor Ned must pass his mornings
A-dawdling with
the Muse:
While Tom frequents his banker,
Young Ned frequents
the Jews.
“Ned drives about in
buggies,
Tom sometimes
takes a ’bus;
Ah, cruel fate, why made you
My children differ
thus?
Why make of Tom a dullard,
And Ned a genius?’