1830.] [ (593 ] 



SPECIMENS OF GREAT POETS." 



* IN my opinion, this song is one of the most capital productions of the author's pen. And in saying thus 

 much, I fairly put it at the head of all poems of the century. It is fuller of raillery than Rogers; more 

 jocose than Jekyll; more butterflyish than Baily ; more mellow than Moore; and more Scottish than 

 Scott. On those grounds, imprimatur 



(Signed) " THE PRO-DEPUTY LICENSER." 



THE ROASTED SOVEREIGN. 



COME, all ye gallant gentlemen, who live by being wjtty, 

 Who dandyize in Bond-street, or lounge it in the City ; 

 Who're sure to gain a livelihood while man can live by lying, 

 Come, hear the famous history of a Spanish monarch's frying. 



A famous warrior once there was of potentates the paragon ; 

 His holy law was etiquette, his kingdom it was Arragon. 

 Some twenty wives this monarch had, whom in his cups he toasted, 

 And next to ruby lips, the Don loved Spanish chesnuts roasted. 



One evening all his courtiers stood around him sleek and musky, 

 Says he, " I 'm tired of state affairs, and drinking makes me husky ; 

 I 'm sick of talking gallantry, my women lately snub me, 

 Nay, I 'm not sure my best-belov'd some fine day may not drub me. 



" So as I'm sick of Parliament, both lower house and upper, 

 I think, my lords, my royal will is now to have some supper. 

 My father died of mushrooms, and my grandfather of mutton, 

 But chesnuts are no poison'd dish, so let the nuts be put on." 



The nuts were brought upon the spot, the Monarch's chair was set 

 Before the grate, in Spanish state, 't was all by etiquette : 

 But while his gaze upon the blaze was gravely ruminating, 

 Outstole Whitewand, Goldstick, Blackrod, and all the lords in waiting. 



The fire grew hot, the Monarch thought, " the rascals mean to sweat me. 

 I'll move my chair, and get some air ; no ! etiquette won't let me. 

 Lord Chamberlain, come back," he roars, ' c this devilish blaze will melt me. 

 The chesnuts, rebel-scoundrels too, have just begun to pelt me." 



The King thus bored, still danced and roar'd, the fire still kept on blazing, 

 At every puff that scorch'd his buff^ his voice more loudly raising. 

 The flame scorched soon, coat, pantaloon, the blaze soon shaved his beard off; 

 But still, to move his chair himself the thing was never heard of. 



Tile chesnuts did their duty well, the King was cannonaded, 

 But not a lord before the blaze his noble face paraded. 

 The King was cooking, and if cook'd, yet etiquette ne'er hinders 

 A king in Spain to roast himself, whene'er he will, to cinders. 



But while their monarch roasting sat, the high and mighty lords 

 Were all too busy tying on their bag-wigs and their swords ; 

 Till deck'd in every star and string of which their office boasted, 

 They all march'd in to see how look'd a Spanish Sovereign roasted. 



First came my Lord High Chancellor, a very hook-nos'd justice, 

 With whom the conscience of the King by Spanish law in trust is ; 

 A peacock in his stride, his brains, his vanity, and train, 

 He march'd to give his grave advice, and then march'd out again. 



Then came my Lord the President, with chalkstones in his toes, 

 Then Privy Seal with all his blush concentred in his nose, 

 Then Lord Field Marshal Fuggleston, an orator and fighter, 

 Whose breath was sulphur, and his eye a two ounce ball of nitre. 



They found the King of Arragon still sitting by the fire, 



He neither bade his lords advance, nor bade his lords retire. 



The chesnuts and the King were done ! Their speeches were in vain : 



They ate the nuts, they left the skins, and then mareh'd out again. 



