Classic Poem

A ROYAL DIALOGUE .

C HARLES

George, my equestrian brother, though
The fates have placed us dos-a-dos
In queer quadrilling fashion,
Prithee, in spite of critic snarls,
Grant to your royal brother Charles
Five minutes' conversation.

G EORGE

Artists to condemnation doom
My anno domini costume,
Though to my era proper:
The epithets of " poor " and " flat "
Stick in my skirts, three-corner'd hat,
A pig-tail made of copper.

C HARLES

Why, ay, my beard, my antique air,
My mantle, boots, and flowing hair,
Ambitiously aspire
Your lovely pedestal above,
Yet — measured by our people's love —
Methinks you're standing higher.

G EORGE

Though dwelling now in loftier scenes,
Each, thinking of the ways and means,
By golden trump is summon'd.
I to the banking-house below
Cry, " Mammon, to the Ransom , ho! "
Your right-hand man is Drummond.

C HARLES

When James succumb'd to Nassau's yoke,
My palace, hid in lurid smoke,
Red Vulcan made a ruin.
My banquet-house survives alone,
And that — for reasons of my own —
I'd rather not be viewing.

G EORGE .

Co-equal fates our dwellings mark;
My mansion in St. James's Park
A new Stonehenge o'ermasters.
Yon marble arch exclaims — " Avaunt!
Duke Sheffield's comfortable haunt —
Red brick and white pilasters! "

C HARLES

There with my subjects ill at ease,
By sturdy puritan M. Ps. "
Eluded and outwitted,
Ent'ring the house, with visage grim,
I sought for Hazlerig and Pym,
And found " the birds had flitted. "

G EORGE

Intruding on forbidden ground —
Had I thus ventured to impound
Joe Hume or Daniel Whittle,
Bearding St. Stephen, face to face,
The hardness of the Speaker's mace
Had proved my sceptre brittle.

C HARLES

Shall I spur on with iron heel
And dispossess Sir Robert Peel?
Ah me! I am not able.
The " new Whitehall, " foretold by Pope,
Lives only in the poet's hope,
And Ripley builds a fable.

G EORGE

What if, descending hand in hand,
Statues at large, we quit our stand
To wonder-strike the many,
And go to court by way of prank,
Like him, the marble man, who drank
With gallant Don Giovanni?

C HARLES

No, brother, haunt no more that scene —
They whom it most concerns, I ween,
Would deem us rude aggressors.
Let neither from the stirrup stir —
Heirs seldom want to disinter
Departed predecessors.

G EORGE

Imagination cannot reach
A fairer substitute for each
Than gentle Queen Victoria.
Long may she reign — as long as we —
And may her Maids of Honour be
Felicitas et Gloria!