Classic Poem

The realm of France possess'd, in days of old,
A thriving set of literati,
Or men of letters, turning all to gold: —
The standard works they made less weighty
By new abridgments — took abundant
Pains their roughnesses to polish,
And plied their scissors to abolish
The superficial and redundant.

And yet, instead of fame and praise,
Hogsheads of sack, and wreaths of bays,
The law, in those benighted ages,
By barbarous edicts did enjoin
That they should cease their occupation,
Terming these literary sages
Clippers and filers of the coin;
(Oh! what a monstrous profanation!)
Nay, what was deeper to be dreaded,
These worthies were, when caught, beheaded!

But to the point. A story should
Be like a coin — a head and tail,
In a few words envelop'd. Good!
I must not let the likeness fail. —
A Gascon who had long pursued
This trade of clipping,
And filing the similitude
Of good King Pepin,
Was caught by the police, who found him
With file and scissors in his hand
And ounces of Pactolian sand
Lying around him.
The case admitting no denial,
They hurried him forthwith to trial;
When the Judge made a long oration,
About the crime of profanation,
And gave no respite for repentance,
But instantly pronounced his sentence,
" Decapitation! "

" As to offending powers divine, "
The culprit cried, — " be nothing said:
Yours is a deeper guilt than mine.
I took a portion from the head
Of the king's image; you, oh fearful odds!
Strike the whole head at once from God's! "