Classic Poem

The old king sat in his barn, beneath
An old owl, nodding near,
On a throne of shucks, with a royal wreath
Of cob-web around his ear;
And he hummed this note in his husky throat,
Which I'm recording here.

Ho! many and great are the cares and weight
Which a king is bound to bear—
I'm sick of state—I'll abdicate—
King Kotton can take the chair!
Out in the cold, another old
Weevil-bedeviled Lear!

Many a year have I ruled, and ne'er
Was there lack of meal or meat—
But the world is bare of “something to wear,”
And sick of something to eat!
Along the Ganges, the Gaudalete,
Nile, Amazon, everywhere—
The world's replete with something to eat,
And crazy for something to wear!
I'm weary of state—I'll abdicate—
King Kotton can take the chair!

The lad I nursed, 'till his buttons burst,
And he left me in his pride
Of ruffles, worst, that ever nursed
Notions of—parricide!
I fed him last, and I fed him first,
The rogue!—or he'd ha' died!

Well! Let him govern! The people's will
Is wise—in its way—indeed!
The youth is wild, but I hope the child
Will manage to make his seed!
Many a fool is born to rule
A realm that he couldn't—feed.
'Twere wiser to stint on Cotton lint
Than starve upon Cotton seed!

The old king grinned till his wisdom teeth
Were visible at each ear,
And he smiled with a smile that shook the wreath
Of cob-webs around his ear!
In short, so loud that I woke and vowed
To tell you about it here!