The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

221
Whenever Monsieur Ketch applied a stroke,
The culprit, like a bullock made a roar.
A flippant petit maitre skipping by,
Stepped up to him and checked him for his cry--
"Bohl" quoth the German, "an't I 'pon de wheel?
D'ye tink my nerfs and bons can't feel?"
"Sir," quoth the beau, "don't, don't be in a passion;
I've naught to say about your situation;
But making such a hideous noise in France,
Fellow, is contrary to bienseance."
KINGS AND COURTIERS.
PETER PINDAR
How pleasant 'tis the courtier clan to see!
So prompt to drop to majesty the knee;
To start, to run, to leap, to fly,
And gambol in the royal eye;
And, if expectant of some high employ,
How kicks the heart against the ribs, for joy!
How rich the incense to the royal nose!
How liquidly the oil of flattery flows!
But should the monarch turn from sweet to sour,
Which cometh oft to pass in half an hour,
How altered instantly the courtier clan!
How faint! how pale! how woe-begone, and wan!
Thus Corydon, betrothed to Delia's charms,
In fancy holds her ever in his arms:
In maddening fancy, cheeks, eyes, lips devours;
Plays with the ringlets that all flaxen flow
In rich luxuriance o'er a breast of snow,
And on that breast the soul of rapture pours.
Night, too, entrances--slumber brings the dream--
Gives to his lips his idol's sweetest kiss;