Classic Poem

The lady knew that she was snubbed, and instant left the court,
And with her Baedeker in hand she found the nearest port.
O captain bold,—the lady said,—sail quick to Afric's sand,
And I will live where Evan Smith and lions paw the sand.
With a lion's whelp for her Lady-Help she led a happy life,
And thanked the stars and the planet Mars, she was not De Lorge's wife.

The whelp grew big until he was of full Van-Amburg size,
And any showman in the world would say he was a prize.
One day he trod on a rusty thorn, and drove it in so hard
That all he could do was to hobble home, and show it to his pard.
And that lady born pulled out the thorn with her lovely little hand,
And put court-plaster on the wound, and washed away the sand.

Then the lady took him back to France, and joined John Sanger's show;
And the king and court sat round above, and they performed below.
And when the Lion kissed her thrice and patted her on the head,
The King, delighted, said that she his only son should wed.
And this is the way, the minstrels say, that she became the queen;
And every day De Lorge, they say, has her Majesty's boots to clean.