Classic Poem

S AID a Sovereign to a Note,
In the pocket of his coat,
Where they met in a neat purse of leather,
" How happens it, I prithee,
" That, tho' I 'm wedded with thee,
" Fair Pound, we can never live together?

" Like your sex, fond of change
" With Silver you can range,
" And of lots of young sixpences be mother;
" While with me — upon my word,
" Not my Lady and my Lord
" Of Westmouth see so little of each other! "

The indignant Note replied
(Lying crumpled by his side),
" Shame, shame, it is yourself that roam, Sir —
" One cannot look askance,
" But, whip! you 're off to France,
" Leaving nothing but old rags at home, Sir.

" Your scampering began
" From the moment Parson Van,
" Poor man, made us one in Love's fetter;
" " For better or for worse"
" Is the usual marriage curse,
" But ours is all " worse" and no " better."

" In vain are laws past,
" There's nothing holds you fast,
" Tho' you know, sweet Sovereign, I adore you —
" At the smallest hint in life,
" You forsake your lawful wife,
" As other Sovereigns did before you.

" I flirt with Silver, true —
" But what can ladies do,
" When disowned by their natural protectors?
" And as to falsehood, stuff!
" I shall soon be false enough,
" When I get among those wicked Bank Directors. "

The Sovereign, smiling on her,
Now swore upon his honor,
To be henceforth domestic and loyal;
But, within an hour or two,
Why — I sold him to a Jew,
And he 's now at No. 10. Palais Royal.