Classic Poem

I

Rego, regis,
Good God, what's this?
What, only half my Peeries!
Regas, regat,
Good God, what's that?
The voice is like my deary's!
Oh, no more there;
Shut the door there;
Harum, scarum, strife O!
Bags, Bags, Sherry Derry, periwigs, and fat lads,
Save us from our wife O!

II

I decline a
C Regina,
Rex alone's more handsome:
Oh what luck, Sir,
Exit uxor!
Rursus ego a man sum .
Glory, glory!
How will story
Tell how. I was gazed at!
Perfect from my pumps, to the plumes above my hat-band,
All are me amazed at!

III

Yes, my hat, Sirs,
Think of that, Sirs,
Vast, and plumed, and Spain-like:
See my big,
Grand robes; my wig
Young, yet lion-mane like.
Glory! glory!
I'm not hoary;
Age it can't come o'er me:
Mad caps, grave caps, gazing on the grand man,
All alike adore me.

IV

I know where
A fat, a fair,
Sweet other self is doting:
I'd reply
With wink of eye,
But fear the newsman noting
Hah! the Toying,
Never cloying,
Cometh to console me:
Crowns and sceptres, jewellery, state swords, —
Who now shall control me?

V

Must I walk now!
What a baulk now!
Non est regis talis.
O, for youth now!
For in truth now,
Non sum eram qualis.
Well, well, roar us,
On before us,
Harum, flarum, stout O,
Stately, greatly, periwig and trumpets, —
Oh, could I leave but my gout O!

VI

What a dies !
How it fri-es!
Handkerchiefs for sixty.
Approbatio!
Sibilatio!
How I feel betwixt ye!
Curlies, burlies,
Dukes and earlies,
Bangs and clangs of band O!
Shouty, flouty, heavy rig, and gouty,
When shall I come to a stand O!

VII

Bliss at last!
The street is passed;
The aisle — I've dragged me through it:
Oh the rare
Old crowning chair!
I fear I flopped into it.
Balmy, balmy,
Comes the psalmy;
Bland the organ blows me;
Crown down coming on a periwig that fits me,
All right royal shows me!

VIII

Oh how bona
My corona !
Sitting so how dulcis !
My oculus grim,
And my sceptrum slim,
And proud, as I hold it, my pulse is!
Shout us, chorus;
Organs, roar us;
Realms, let a secret start ye: —
Dragon-killing George on the coin is myself,
And the dragon is Bonaparte

IX

And yet alas!
Must e'en I pass
Through hisses again on foot, Sirs!
Oh pang profound!
And I now walk crowned,
And with sceptre in hand to boot, Sirs!
I go, I go,
With a fire in my toe,
I'm bowing, blasting, baking!
Hall, O Hall, ope your doors, and let your guest in;
Every inch I'm a — king

X

But now we dine!
Oh word divine,
Beyond what e'en has crowned it!
Envy may call
Great monarchs small,
But feast, and you dumb-found it.
Brandy, brandy,
To steady me handy
For playing my knife and fork, O!
Green fat, and devilry, shall warrant me ere bed-time,
In drawing my twentieth cork O!

XI

Hah, my Champy!
Plumy, trampy!
Astley's best can't beat him!
See his frown!
His glove thrown down!
Should a foe appear, he'd eat him!
Glory, glory,
Glut and glory, —
I mean poury,
Glut and poury, —
Poury, mory,
Splash and floory,
Crown us, drown us, vivo !
Cram dram, never end, plethora be d — ned, man;
Vivat Rex dead-alive O!