V. This was a handsome board—at least for heaven; VI. This by the way; 'tis not mine to record VII. Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, B VIII. In the first year of freedom's second dawn A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn, IX. He died!-his death made no great stir on earth; Of aught but tears--save those shed by collusion; Bought also; and the torches, cloaks, and banners, X. Form'd a sepulchral melo-drame. Of all The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, Who cared about the corpse? The funeral Made the attraction, and the black the woe. It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold XI. So mix his body with the dust! It might Its way back into earth, and fire, and air; What nature made him at his birth, as bare As the mere million's base unmummied clayYet all his spices but prolong decay. XII. He's dead—and upper earth with him has done : He's buried; save the undertaker's bill, Or lapidary scrawl, the world is gone For him, unless he left a German will; But where's the proctor who will ask his son? In whom his qualities are reigning still, Except that household virtue, most uncommon, Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman. XIII. "God save the king!" It is a large economy I hardly know too if not quite alone am I XIV. I know this is unpopular; I know 'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn'd For hoping no one else may e'er be so; I know my catechism; I know we are cramm'd With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow; I know that all save England's church have shamm'd, And that the other twice two hundred churches And synagogues have made a damn'd bad purchase. XV. God help us all! God help me too! I am, Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish, XVI. Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, And nodded o'er his keys; when lo! there came A wond'rous noise he had not heard of late A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame; In short, a roar of things extremely great, Which would have made aught save a saint exclaim; But he, with first a start and then a wink, XVII. But ere he could return to his repose, A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes— At which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his nose: "Saint porter," said the Angel, "prithee rise!" Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes; To which the Saint replied, "Well, what's the matter? "Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?" XVIII. "No," quoth the Cherub; "George the Third is dead." "And who is George the Third?" replied the Apostle; "What George? what Third ?" "The King of England," said The Angel." Well! he wont find kings to jostle "Him on his way; but does he wear his head? "Because the last we saw here had a tussle, "And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces, "Had he not flung his head in all our faces. XIX. "He was, if I remember, king of France; "When I cut ears off, I had cut him down; "But having but my keys, and not my brand, "I only knock'd his head from out his hand. |