Classic Poem

Mes Jour's Gras de 1829

God preserve you, good King, in his grace!
Though the butt of your anger, alas!
Thank Bridoie, I again in such place
Under bolts must a Carnival pass
But, if hither I'm forced to repair —
Days of pleasure, so sacred, to miss —
Like a prince I can enmity bear:
My good King, you shall pay me for this

From the throne when you made a fine speech,
As a wretch, you alluded to me —
That was just in my favor to preach;
So in that no offence could I see.
But o'erhearing, when sad and alone,
Paris laughing, all joyous and gay,
I resume my satirical tone:
Ay, for this, my good King, you shall pay

Glass in hand, and full mouth, who are these
Madmen mumming in fifty odd ways?
Ah! my friends, ye forget me with ease,
Though perchance ye are singing my lays
If with them, in their madness my vein
Would have lost all the force of its sting;
I had toasted your merciful reign:
You shall pay me for this, my good King

You may know, Sire, that madcap Lisette,
Whom my fetters such weeping have cost —
She to-night at the ball will not fret;
" Bah! " says she, " what a frolic he 's lost! "
I was thinking, to please the fair maid,
Under you, Sire, I'd picture our bliss —
But, your servant! Liz turns out a jade:
My good King you, shall pay me for this.

My old quiver, relaxed in its grip
By the blows that your Judges let fall,
Has an arrow still left — on its tip
" Charles the Tenth, " for direction, I scrawl.
Though your bars are so close o'er my head,
Though your walls on me heavily weigh,
Bent the bow is — the arrow is sped:
For all this, my good King, you shall pay.