Classic Poem

I.

Who of the Tudor line so great,
Both in abdomen and in state,
As the last Harry out of Eight
Who wore the English Crown?
Among his beefeaters, huge things,
Employed to waddle after kings,
Like broad-wheeled wagons wanting springs,
Was Mr. Champernoune.

II.

Forswearing Rome, and bulls, and shrift,
King Harry turned the monks adrift,
Put every nun to her last shift,
And threw their convents down;
His courtiers swore with ready grace,
They'd broil a pope to keep a place,
So all unpapalized apace,
Like Mr. Champernoune.

III.

Each leaving thus his pliant soul,
Politely to the King's control,
Thought that in riches he should roll,
And bid old Care go drown;
Each hoped, since he'd be damned or blest,
Just as his Majesty thought best,
To thrive at Court — as with the rest,
Thought Mr. Champernoune.

IV.

Monks groaned, the Holy Sisters raved;
Their hair had stood an end, if saved,
But luckily they all were shaved,
And bald was every crown;
While to this layman and to that,
As poor before as any rat,
The King gave Abbey-lands as fat
As Mr. Champernoune.

V.

One morning to the presence-door
(Where stood the beefeater before),
There came two courtiers trim, who wore
The gayest gear in town.
Observing them 'twixt fear and doubt,
In fidgets till the King came out,
" Pray what's the suit you're here about? "
Said Mr. Champernoune.

VI.

Enraged at such a question put
By this low martial man of gut,
The well-dressed courtiers 'gan to strut,
And stare, and bounce, and frown;
Crying, " Base beefeater and boor!
We trust no suits with rogues so poor: "
" Your tailors do, I'm pretty sure, "
Thought Mr. Champernoune.

VII.

But lo! the King! — down knelt the twain,
And gave a paper coarse in grain;
For England's monarchs then were fain
To handle whitey-brown;
But what the paper might declare,
As to the purport of their prayer,
Was quite a mystical affair
To Mr. Champernoune.

VIII.

Yet since the beefeater had eyes,
He saw that courtiers kneel to rise ,
And therefore thought it not unwise
To join in flumping down;
Quite sure a mendicant to thrones
All danger in his trade disowns,
Behind them on his marrow-bones
Dropped Mr. Champernoune.

IX.

Hal read, and granted; now began
A grateful Duo from the van;
But soon a third and rearward man
Joined chorus to the Crown;
Neither from Hal durst turn his nob
Toward their assistant in the job,
To find that he who bore a bob
Was Mr. Champernoune.

X.

Thus witless who his lungs so plied,
" Thanks, good my Liege! " the couple cried;
When " ditto, " like a roaring tide,
Seemed every voice to drown.
They paused, discomfited; and then
Took courage and went to't again;
" Long live the King! " they bawled; " Amen! "
Thundered brave Champernoune.


XI.

Now onward walked the monarch, who
The sweet Jane Seymour went to woo;
For closely was he sticking to
The tail of Jenny's gown;
And ere the foremost of the brace
Had time to turn about and face
Behind them from his kneeling-place,
Slipped Mr. Champernoune.

XII.

The suitors, quitted by the King,
" Let's see, " they cried, " what this snug thing,
These same rich Abbey-lands will bring,
Just given us by the Crown;
Its yearly profits will be clean
Among us two — " " Us three, you mean "
(Popping his noddle in between),
Cried Mr. Champernoune.

XIII.

" Three! " " Three; — 'twas I that knelt behind; "
" But you were out of sight. " " You'll find
You're not to leave me out of mind;
Don't think me such a clown;
Don't fancy I'll my share forego; "
" Your share! " " We begged the lands, you know. "
" You'll recollect I backed you though, "
Quoth Mr. Champernoune.

XIV.

Words mounted high; to end dispute
(High words 'tis certain never do't)
Back to King Harry went the suit,
To hunt the question down.
" Who begged the lands? " quoth Hal; " say true. "
" We were the organs, sire, to you; "
" And I, my liege, the bellows blew, "
Roared Mr. Champernoune.

XV.

King Harry stroked his face so fat,
Next gave his pincushion a pat,
And in a sort of study sat,
Denominated brown;
Then said, " It seemeth meet and fair
Church lands should be obtained by prayer;
You prayed, he helped you, — give his share
To Mr. Champernoune. "

XVI.

Now bless all bounteous potentates
Who give their subjects good estates!
But thrice bless him who tolerates,
Yet keeps the Papists down!
Who yielding to their proper wants,
All reasonable favour grants
To them, and purer Protestants
Than Mr. Champernoune.