THE HERE was a king in Brentford,-of whom no legends tell, But who, without his glory,-could eat and sleep right well. His Polly's cotton nightcap,-it was his crown of state, All in a fine mud palace,-each day he took four meals, good, And then a prancing jackass-he royally bestrode. There were no costly habits-with which this king was curst, Except (and where's the harm on't?)—a somewhat lively thirst; But people must pay taxes,-and kings must have their sport, So out of every gallon-His Grace he took a quart. He pleased the ladies round him,—with manners soft and bland; With reason good, they named him-the father of his land. Each year his mighty armies-marched forth in gallant show; Their enemies were targets,-their bullets they were tow. He vexed no quiet neighbour,-no useless conquest made, But by the laws of pleasure-his peaceful realm he swayed. And in the years he reigned,-through all this country wide, There was no cause for weeping,-save when the good man died. The faithful men of Brentford-do still their king deplore, LE GRENIER. JE Vie la misère a subi les leçons. E viens revoir l'asile où ma jeunesse J'avais vingt ans, une folle maîtresse, C'est un grenier, point ne veux qu'on l'ignore. Vingt fois pour vous j'ai mis ma montre en gage. Lisette ici doit surtout apparaître, Vive, jolie, avec un frais chapeau ; Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans ! A table un jour, jour de grande richesse, Le canon gronde; un autre chant commence ; Quittons ce toit où ma raison s'enivre. Contre un des mois qu'ici Dieu m'a comptés, W YITH pensive eyes the little room I view, Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long, With a wild mistress, a staunch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song: Making a mock of life and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun, Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Yes; 'tis a garret-let him know't who will— There was my bed--full hard it was and small; My table there-and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun; For you I pawned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. |