The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

262
And took him in his vis-a-vis.
This said Religion was a friar,
The humblest and the best of men,
Who ne'er had notion or desire
Of riding in a coach till then.
"I say"--quoth Royalty, who rather
Enjoy'd a masquerading joke--
"I say, suppose, my good old father,
You lend me, for a while, your cloak."
The friar consented--little knew
What tricks the youth had in his head;
Besides, was rather tempted, too,
By a laced coat he got in stead,
Away ran Royalty, slap-dash,
Scampering like mad about the town;
Broke windows--shiver'd lamps to smash,
And knock'd whole scores of watchmen down.
While naught could they whose heads were broke
Learn of the "why" or the "wherefore,"
Except that 't was Religion's cloak
The gentleman, who crack'd them, wore.
Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turn'd
By the laced coat, grew frisky too--
Look'd big--his former habits spurn'd--
And storm'd about as great men do--
Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses--
Said "Damn you," often, or as bad--
Laid claim to other people's purses--
In short, grew either knave or mad.
As work like this was unbefitting,
And flesh and blood no longer bore it,
The Court of Common Sense then sitting,
Summon'd the culprits both before it;