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This was a handsome board-at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;
Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo,
This by the way; 'tis not mine to record
What angels shrink from: even the very devil
So surfeited with the infernal revel;
It almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil.
Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace,
Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont, And heaven none—they form the tyrant's lease
With nothing but new names subscribed upon 't; 'Twill one day finish : meantime they increase,
“With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front, Like Saint John's foretold beast; but ours are born Less formidable in the head than horn.
In the first year of freedom's second dawn
Died George the Third; although no tyrant, one
Left him nor mental nor external sun :
A worse king never left a realm undone!
He died !- his death made no great stir on earth;
His burial made some pomp; there was profusion Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth
Of aught but tears--save those shed by collusion;
Of elegy there was the due infusion-
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.
And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low,
So mix his body with the dust! It might
Return to what it must far sooner, were The natural compound left alone to fight
Its way back into earth, and fire, and air; But the unnatural balsams merely blight
What nature made him at his birth, as bare As the mere million's base unmummied clayYet all his spices but prolong decay.
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.
“God save the king !" It is a large economy
In God to save the like; but if he will
Of those who think damnation better still:
In this small hope of bettering future ill By circumscribing, with some slight restriction, The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction.
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.
God help us all! God help me too! I am,
God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, And not a whit more difficult to damn
Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish,
Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate,
And nodded o'er bis 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, Said, “ There's another star gone out, I think!"
But ere he could return to his repose,
A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyesAt 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 ?”
“ 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 ? 6 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.
“ He was, if I remember, king of France;
" That bead of his, which could not keep a crown “ On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance
“ A claim to those of martyrs-like my own: “ If I had had my sword, as I had once
“ 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.