VERSES SUNG BY A TWELFTH-DAY KING .

La Couronne.

Thanks to the bean, I'm King — 'tis our decree,
Pour, pour the wine!
Ho! subjects, crown me; and with envy see
What glory's mine
There's not a soul that doth not pant to reach
The topmost stair:
None with their hats are quite contented — each
A crown would wear.

On darkened brow the Monarch's crown is shown
In splendor brave:
The herdsman, too, has his — of flowers alone —
This crown I crave
Heaven makes one pay its cost — the other's crown
'Tis Love bestows:
Colin with his sleeps well — the King lays down
His, but to doze.

Warrior and bard, to Muse and Victory true,
The Frenchman's aim —
Twofold his laurels — is brave deeds to do —
Then sing their fame
Bellona's false — from rank that he should fill
What though he fall,
The sceptre he may lose — yet keeps he still
His crown through all

Fifteen — the crown of innocence it brings
To you, ye fair:
Courtiers anon their incense, as for Kings,
For you prepare.
For them, for you, her meshes Cunning's hand
Seductive strews:
Ye give your ear to none but flatterers bland —
Your crown ye lose.

What! lose a crown! the hint these words imply
Monarchs may guess:
I never doubled taxes; nor have I
An old noblesse
Drink with me, drink, my people — this my lot
Seems so divine,
Ere the dessert at least, oh, bid me not
My crown resign!