Volume Iv Part 26 (2/2)

Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft, His chair, a three-legged stool; His broken jug was emptied oft, Yet, somehow, always full.

His mistress' portrait decked the wall, His mirror had a crack, Yet, gay and glad, though this was all His wealth, lived Jolly Jack.

To give advice to avarice, Teach pride its mean condition, And preach good sense to dull pretence, Was honest Jack's high mission.

Our simple statesman found his rule Of moral in the flagon, And held his philosophic school Beneath the ”George and Dragon”

When village Solons cursed the Lords, And called the malt-tax sinful, Jack heeded not their angry words, But smiled and drank his skinful.

And when men wasted health and life, In search of rank and riches, Jack marched aloof the paltry strife, And wore his threadbare breeches.

”I enter not the Church,” he said, ”But I'll not seek to rob it;”

So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, While others studied Cobbett.

His talk it was of feast and fun; His guide the Almanack; From youth to age thus gaily run The life of Jolly Jack.

And when Jack prayed, as oft he would, He humbly thanked his Maker; ”I am,” said he, ”O Father good!

Nor Catholic nor Quaker: Give each his creed, let each proclaim His catalogue of curses; I trust in Thee, and not in them, In Thee, and in Thy mercies!

”Forgive me if, midst all Thy works, No hint I see of d.a.m.ning; And think there's faith among the Turks, And hope for e'en the Brahmin.

Harmless my mind is, and my mirth, And kindly is my laughter; I cannot see the smiling earth, And think there's h.e.l.l hereafter.”

Jack died; he left no legacy, Save that his story teaches:-- Content to peevish poverty; Humility to riches.

Ye scornful great, ye envious small, Come fellow in his track; We all were happier, if we all Would copy Jolly Jack.

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]

THE KING OF BRENTFORD After Beranger

There was a King in Brentford,--of whom no legends tell, But who, without his glory,--could eat and sleep right well.

His Polly's cotton nightcap--it was his crown of state, He slept of evenings early,--and rose of mornings late.

All in a fine mud palace,--each day he took four meals, And for a guard of honor,--a dog ran at his heels.

Sometimes to view his kingdoms,--rode forth this monarch good, And then a prancing jacka.s.s--he royally bestrode.

There were no costly habits--with which this King was cursed, Except (and where's the harm on't)--a somewhat lively thirst; But people must pay taxes,--and Kings must have their sport; So out of every gallon--His Grace he took a quart.

He pleased the ladies round him,--with manners soft and bland; With reason good, they named him,--the father of his land.

Each year his mighty armies--marched forth in gallant show; Their enemies were targets,--their bullets they were tow.

He vexed no quiet neighbor,--no useless conquest made, But by the laws of pleasure,--his peaceful realm he swayed.

And in the years he reigned,--through all this country wide, There was no cause for weeping,--save when the good man died.

The faithful men of Brentford,--do still their King deplore, His portrait yet is swinging,--beside an alehouse door.

And topers, tender-hearted,--regard his honest phiz, And envy times departed,--that knew a reign like his.

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