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 damning;
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 hell 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 jackass--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.

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]