The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

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Of the man, who for me all this peril defied,
I could fancy almost he and I were a pair
Of unhappy young lovers, who thus, side by side,
Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a
Desperate dash down the falls of Niagara!
This achiev'd, through the gardens we saunter'd about,
Saw the fire-works, exclaim'd "magnifique!" at each cracker
And, when 't was all o'er, the dear man saw us out
With the air, I WILL say, of a prince, to our fiacre.
Now, hear me--this stranger--it may be mere folly--
But WHO do you think we all think it is, Dolly?
Why, bless you, no less than the great King of Prussia,
Who's here now incog.--he, who made such a fuss, you
Remember, in London, with Blucher and Platoff,
When Sal was near kissing old Blucher's cravat off!
Pa says he's come here to look after his money
(Not taking things now as he used under Boney),
Which suits with our friend, for Bob saw him, he swore,
Looking sharp to the silver received at the door.
Besides, too, they say that his grief for his Queen
(Which was plain in this sweet fellow's face to be seen)
Requires such a stimulant dose as this car is,
Used three times a day with young ladies in Paris.
Some Doctor, indeed, has declared that such grief
Should--unless 't would to utter despairing its folly push--
Fly to the Beaujon, and there seek relief
By rattling, as Bob says, "like shot through a holly-bush."
I must now bid adieu--only think, Dolly, think
If this SHOULD be the King--I have scarce slept a wink
With imagining how it will sound in the papers,
And how all the Misses my good luck will grudge,
When they read that Count Buppin, to drive away vapors,
Has gone down the Beaujon with Miss Biddy Fudge.
Nota Bene.--Papa's almost certain 'tis he--
For he knows the L*git**ate cut, and could see,
In the way he went poising, and managed to tower
So erect in the car, the true Balance of Power.