(ORIGINAL)
RANDOM THOUGHTS ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES
BY A BENEDICT WHO
KNOWS WHAT IT IS TO BE HUNGRY.
GAS! gas! gas! There is gas in garbage;
Gas is all whereon we are to feed,
In his hour of joy and mine of need.
I look upon my Mary darling,
And the little ones I have to keep;
Poor Polly’s eyes are red with crying,
What business now can she have to weep?
Sitting in lonely cot of sorrow,
(Mary held our first-born, and I our boy
He has not seen three summers blooming),
My Mary asked for traces of our joy.
We have known weary tribulation;
To uncle, “Two to one,” lent goods for store,
While sunshine seems departed from us
And black shadows hang evermore.
“I cannot rejoice, not I,” said Mary;
And she kiss’d a baby that did cry,
Rous’d up, poor little thing, still hungry,
And I asked Mary, so tell me why?
“Could you rejoice like those wealthy folks,
Who profess a joy they do not feel?
Bless the pair of royal golden race;
I’m baser metal, but my heart is steel.”
“Come Mary, Mary, you’re contrary!”
“What,” said she, “while want is sternly writ
Am I to laugh and shout in delight?
I am not loyal! – not a bit of it;
I’m loyal to thee and the babies.
Tom, there’s something wrong in this old land:
Our better! pshaw – give me the money,
We then can be a very loyal band.
“When gas blazes in the Market square,
And fireworks rattle in the Public Park;
When volunteers parade in uniform,
My cares and thoughts for princes will be dark.
Oh! what inconsistency is here,
A [b?]arning shame proclaims royal love;
I’m thinking,Tom, this gassy outburst
Will be ledger’d in the tomes above.”
Mary, Mary, speak not thus sadly;
We are royal! one bit of dusty earth
Will shortly be the pomp in difference
Twixt thee and those of royal birth.
Come, take a walk; with hungry stomachs,
We’ll view the little modes daisies;
And in joy, the sights of nature,
Learn there to chaunt right royal praises.
“Let those who wish disport themelves –
Burn gas, spend cash, and flare up and down;
Twelve thousand people in the midst of light
Fare badly, in the gloom sinking down;
Come, Mary, come, come, and see the shows;
List, Mary, to the music and the guns;
They waste for plenty, but little joy
Is here for thousands of starving ones.
“Oh ring, ring the bells: like corpse in robes –
Your joy beneath is of hollow sound,
For human woes are very plenteous here;
So let the blue fire blaze all around,
Look at that flash of light – hear the bells;
Come, Mary, come – come, what do they say?
They are sounding praise for royalty –
Loyal, empty stomachs, go your way.”