Classic Poem

In seventeen hundred seventy-eight,
The rich, the proud, the potent King of Spain,
Whose ancestors sent forth their troops to smite
The peaceful natives of the western main,
With faggots and the blood-delighting sword,
To play the devil, to oblige the Lord!

For hunting, roasting heretics, and boiling,
Baking and barbecuing, frying, broiling,
Was thought Heaven's cause amazingly to further;
For which most pious reason, hard to work,
They went, with gun and dagger, knife and fork,
To charm the God of mercy with their murther!

I say, this King, in seventy-eight surveyed,
In tapestry so rich, portrayed,
A horse with stirrups, crupper, bridle, saddle:
Within the stirrup, lo, the monarch tried
To fix his foot the palfry to bestride;
In vain! — he could not o'er the palfry straddle!

Stiff as a Turk, the beast of yarn remained,
And every effort of the King disdained,
Who, 'midst his labors, to the ground was tumbled,
And greatly mortified, as well as humbled.

Prodigious was the struggle of the day,
The horse attempted not to run away;
At which the poor-chafed monarch now 'gan grin,
And swore by every saint and holy martyr,
He would not yield the traitor quarter,
Until he got possession of his skin.

Not fiercer famed La Mancha's knight,
Hight Quixote, at a puppet-show,
Did with more valor stoutly fight,
And terrify each little squeaking foe;
When bold he pierced the lines, immortal fray!
And broke their pasteboard bones, and stabbed their hearts of hay.

Not with more energy and fury
The beauteous street-walker of Drury
Attacks a sister of the smuggling trade,
Whose winks, and nods, and sweet resistless smile,
Ah, me! her paramour beguile,
And to her bed of healthy straw persuade;
Where mice with music charm, and vermin crawl,
And snails with silver traces deck the wall.

And now a cane, and now a whip he used,
And now he kicked, and sore the palfry bruised;
Yet, lo, the horse seemed patient at each kick,
And bore with Christian spirit whip and stick;
And what excessively provoked this prince,
The horse so stubborn scorned even once to wince

Now rushed the monarch for a bow and arrow
To shoot the rebel like a sparrow;
And, lo, with shafts well steeled, with all his force,
Just like a pincushion, he stuck the horse!

Now with the fury of the chafed wild boar,
With nails and teeth the wounded horse he tore,
Now to the floor he brought the stubborn beast;
Now o'er the vanquish'd horse that dared rebel,
Most Indian-like the monarch gave a yell,
Pleased on the quadruped his eyes to feast;
Blessed as Achilles when with fatal wound
He brought the mighty Hector to the ground.

Yet more to gratify his godlike ire,
He vengeful flung the palfry in the fire!
Showing his pages round, poor trembling things,
How dangerous to resist the will of kings.