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Thus when thou findest kings in brewing wise,
Or natural history holding lofty station, Thou mayest conclude, with marveling eyes,
Such kings have had a goodly education.
Now did the king admire the bell so fine,
And now before their sovereign's curious eye,
Parents and children, fine, fat, hopeful sprigs, All snuffling, squinting, grunting in their style,
Appeared the brewer's tribe of handsome pigs: On which the observant man, who fills a throne, Declared the pigs were vastly like his own:
On which the brewer, swallowed up in joys,
Exclaimed, “O heavens! and can my swine
Be deemed by majesty so fine! Heavens! can my pigs compare, sire, with pigs royal!” To which the king assented with a nod; On which the brewer bowed, and said, “Good God !" Then winked significant on Miss; Significant of wonder and of bliss ;
Who, bridling in her chin divine, Crossed her fair hands, a dear old maid, And then her lowest courtesy made
For such high honor done her father's swine.
Now did his majesty so gracious say
“Whitbread, d'ye nick the excisemen now and then ? Hæ, Whitbread, when d'ye think to leave off trade? Hæ? what? Miss Whitbread's still a maid, a maid ?
What, what's the matter with the men ?
"D'ye hunt!-hæ, hunt? No, no, you are too old
You'll be lord mayor-lord mayor one dayYes, yes, I've heard so-yes, yes, so I'm told :
Don't, don't the fine for sheriff pay?
I'll prick you every year, man,
I declare: Yes, Whitbread-yes, yes-you shall be lord mayor.
“Whitbread, d'ye keep a coach, or job one, pray ?
Job, job, that's cheapest; yes, that's best, that's best. You put your liveries on the draymen-hæ ? Ilæ, Whitbread? you have feather'd well your nest. What, what's the price now, hæ, of all your stock? But, Whitbread, what's o'clock, pray, what's o'clock ?"
Now Whitbread inward said, “May I be cursed
Then searched his brains with ruminating eye:
Skipped off, and baulked the pleasure of reply.
From curiosity doth wisdom flow: For 'tis a maxim I've adopted long,
The more a man inquires, the more he'll know. Reader, didst ever see a water-spout?
'Tis possible that thou wilt answer, "No." Well then! he makes a most infernal rout;
Sucks, like an elephant, the waves below,
I always would advise folks to ask questions:
For, truly, questions are the keys of knowledge: Soldiers, who forage for the mind's digestions,
Cut figures at the Old Bailey, and at college; Make chancellors, chief justices, and judges, Even of the lowest green-bag drudges.
The sages say, Dame Truth delights to dwell,
Now having well employed his royal lungs
The conquering monarch, stopping to take breath
Now turned to Whitbrearl with complacence round, And, merry, thus addressed the man of beer: “Whitbread, is't true? I hear, I hear,
You're of an ancient family-renowned-
A snuffling round-headed society-
Bunyans, and Practices of Piety:
Now having wonders done on flesh, fowl, fish,
Whole hosts o’erturned-and seized on all supplies; The royal visitors expressed a wish
To turn to House of Buckingham their eyes.
But first the monarch, so polite,
C'nwilling in the list to be enrolled, Whitbread contemplated the knights of Peg, Then to his generous sovereign made a leg,
And said, " He was afraid he was too old. He thanked however his most gracious king, For offering to make him such a thing."
But, ah! a different reason 't was I fear!
The proffered honor of the monarch shun:
A tale that farrowed such a world of fun.
He mocked the prayer too hy the king appointed,
And though a Presbyterian, can not thinko
Heaven (quarrelling with meat and drink) Joys in the grumble of a hungry belly !
Now from the table with Cæsarean air
Up rose the monarch with his laureled brow, When Mr. Whitbread, waiting on his chair, Expressed much thanks, much joy, and made a bow. Miss Whitbread now so quick her curtsies drops, Thick as her honored father's Kentish hops; Which hop-like curtsies were returned by dips That never hurt the royal knees and hips;
For hips and knees of queens are sacred things,
Before the best of kings,
Now through a thundering peal of kind huzzas,
* When his majesty goes to a play-house, or brew-house, or parliament, the Lord Chamberlain provides some pounds' worth of niob to huzza their beloved monarch. At the play-house about forty wide-mouthed fellows are hired on the night of their majesties' appearance, at two shillings and sixpence per head, with the liberty of seeing the play gratis. These Stentors are placed in different paris of the theater, who, immediately on the royal entry into the stage-box, eet up their howl of loyalty; to whom their majesties, with sweetest smiles, acknowledge
The raree-show thought proper to retire;
For, lo! they felt themselves some six feet higher!
Such, Thomas, is the way to write!
Thus should an honest laureate write of kings--
Should that bold verse declare they wanted brains.
And therefore fancy that some still remains;
For every well-experienced surgeon knows,
That men who with their legs have parted,
And often at the twinges started;
If men, then, who their absent toes have mourned,
Yes, Tom-mine is the way of writing ode
Why liftest thou thy pious eyes to God! the obligation by a genteel bow, and an elegant curtesy. This congratulatory noise of the Stentors is looked on by many, particularly country ladies and gen. tlemen, as an infallible thermometer, that ascertains the warmth of the national regard.-P. P.