IV. His business so augmented of late years, To aid him ere he should be quite worn out Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks. V. This was a handsome board—at least for heaven; VI. This by the way; 'tis not mine to record VII. Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, "With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front, Like Saint John's foretold beast; but ours are born Less formidable in the head than horn. VIII. In the first year of freedom's second dawn' IX. He died! his death made no great stir on earth: Of aught but tears-save those shed by collusion. Bought also; and the torches, cloaks and banners, X. Form'd a sepulchral melodrame. Of all The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show, Who cared about the corpse? The funeral Made the attraction, and the black the wo. There throbb'd not there a thought which pierced the pall; It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold XI. So mix his body with the dust! It might Its way back into earth, and fire, and air ; But the unnatural balsams merely blight What nature made him at his birth, as bare As the mere million's base unmummied clayYet all his spices but prolong decay. XII. He's dead-and upper earth with him has done; For him, unless he left a German will: XIII. "God save the king!" It is a large economy XIV. I know this is unpopular; I know 'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn'd For hoping no one else may e'er be so ; I know my catechism; I know we're cramm'd With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow; I know that all save England's church have shamm'd, And that the other twice two hundred churches And synagogues have made a damn'd bad purchase. XV. God help us all! God help me too! I am Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish, As one day will be that immortal fry XVI. Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, And nodded o'er his keys: when, lo! there came A wondrous noise he had not heard of late A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame; In short, a roar of things extremely great, Which would have made aught save a saint exclaim; XVII. But ere he could return to his repose, A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes—At which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his nose : "Saint porter," said the angel," prithee rise!" Waving a goodly wing, which glew'd, as glows An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes : To which the saint replied, "Well, what's the matter? "Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter ? " XVIII. "No," quoth the cherub: "George the Third is dead." "And who is George the Third?" replied the apostle : "What George? what Third?" "The king of England,” said The angel. "Well! he won't find kings to jostle Him on his way; but does he wear his head? Because the last we saw here had a tustle, And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces, XIX. "He was, if I remember, king of France;" When I cut ears off, I had cut him down; XX. "And then he set up such a headless howl, In heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin, XXI. "But had it come up here upon its shoulders, There would have been a different tale to tell : The fellow-feeling in the saint's beholders Seems to have acted on them like a spell; And so this very foolish head heaven solders Back on its trunk: it may be very well, And seems the custom here to overthrow Whatever has been wisely done below." XXII. The angel answer'd, "Peter! do not pout : He did as doth the puppet-by its wire, XXIII. While thus they spake, the angelic caravan, Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde, Or Thames, or Tweed), and midst them an old man With an old soul, and both extremely blind, Halted before the gate, and in his shroud |