Classic Poem

The Subject from Macchiavelli

In the great council hall of Hell
There once was held a consultation,
The subject was — 'tis strange to tell —
How to encourage population.

'Twas long ago — I can't tell when —
But ere they heard thy name, Gastronomy,
And Malthus had not taught them then
The true political economy.

Causing less talk and discontent
Than Panama's debated mission
An Envoy to the Earth was sent
Belphegor got the new commission.

A devil of parts — and not without wit
Handsome and graceful as Apollo
And then in salary and outfit
He beat all other envoys hollow.

With grave enquiries charged, he came,
To Earth — a Duke, or some such matter —
And when the women heard his fame
Wives, widows, maids, began to flatter.

One vixen dame whose charms and art
Might make the devil himself light-headed,
First caught his eye and then his heart
'Till they in short were fairly wedded.

But now began Belphegor's woes
His spouse's tongue forever wagging
Gave the poor devil no repose
Still teasing — scolding — never flagging.

He ran at last — who would not run
To scape such matrimonial cooing
Through every clime beneath the sun
With his Eurydice pursuing.

At length one day almost o'ertaken
He heard her voice — he knew it well —
And with a dreadful panic shaken
He scampered off direct for Hell.

Arrived at Court he told his story
" Learn Sire, " he said, " from my miscarriage
To fill your realm and raise your glory
You've but on Earth to favor marriage. "