The Black Mousquetaire: A Legend Of France Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AAAAAAAAAABC CCCCACCCCC CDEFF GGCC AC DHCC IICCC JJKKKAAAACECCACCAA LLA EEMM CCCA DEEDHH HNNNCCCAA CCNNCCA OOOOCC CPPQQAC RRCCAAACCCCAACCC CC SD CC CTTT UAADESDVV CCCCCC QQWWVVVVV VVVXXXVVVAAAAK KKA AACAYYC ZZVVA2 A2 EEB2C2B2C2AACCC AAAARR ED2ED2VV AVAVVA WTPAPCC AAEECCCVV KKAAAAVVAAAACCE2E2EE CCCC F2F2AALLLLLLLEG2G2VV AAA H2 CCLLAAVVP C CCLL VVVLLCCWWWVVVVV A AAVVAI2J2LLLCCCCCCCC CC CCCVV CCPP VVVVVPPCCEEAWWAAACAA AAAAA CCCCAAAAAAAA C CCCAAAAAAAVEVEVETT C E AC2A EAEA VAVA K2 CCCCCCWW AAAAVVVAA WW CCCACCALLWWWVVVEEEWW WWWAAAAAAAAAAEEEELEE EEAALLAAL2L2L2EEEAAA VVVVV AAVVVLALCCCCCAA L2 CCCCCCCCCW CCCCVVLCCCCCCCC CCCCCCC C CCC CCCCC AAACCC CCCCCCCCEECCCCCTTCCE EAAEC EECCCCC AAM2 CCAAACCAC C AAC N2 N2CCCCCCCCC C WWWCCCCCCCL2CC CC CCTCTCC AAAACCAAAAAAAAAAA WWC CCE E CCCCCEEEEAAECCAACC CCCCCC CCCAAAAAAAA C CCCCCCCCCCC CC CWCCWCCCCL LCCAACC CCL2CCEEAAACCCEAAAAA AACCCCC CCCCC CCCCC C L2L2 CCCCCCC C C EEECCAAFrancois Xavier Auguste was a gay Mousquetaire | A |
The Pride of the Camp the delight of the Fair | A |
He'd a mien so distingu and so dbonnaire | A |
And shrugg'd with a grace so recherch and rare | A |
And he twirl'd his moustache with so charming an air | A |
His moustaches I should say because he'd a pair | A |
And in short show'd so much of the true savoir faire | A |
All the ladies in Paris were wont to declare | A |
That could any one draw | A |
Them from Dian's strict law | A |
Into what Mrs Ramsbottom calls a 'Fox Paw ' | B |
It would be Francois Xavier Auguste de St Foix | C |
- | |
Now I'm sorry to say | C |
At that time of day | C |
The Court of Versailles was a little too gay | C |
The Courtiers were all much addicted to Play | C |
To Bourdeaux Chambertin Frontignac St Peray | A |
Lafitte Chateau Margaux | C |
And Sillery a cargo | C |
On which John Bull sensibly lays an embargo | C |
While Louis Quatorze | C |
Kept about him in scores | C |
What the Noblesse in courtesy term'd his 'Jane Shores ' | - |
They were call'd by a much coarser name out of doors | C |
This we all must admit in | D |
A King's not befitting | E |
For such courses when followed by persons of quality | F |
Are apt to detract on the score of morality | F |
- | |
Francois Xavier Auguste acted much like the rest of them | G |
Dress'd drank and fought and chasse'd with the best of them | G |
Took his oeil de perdrix | C |
Till he scarcely could see | C |
He would then sally out in the streets for a 'spree ' | - |
His rapier he'd draw | A |
Pink a Bourgeois | C |
A word which the English translate 'Johnny Raw ' | - |
For your thorough French Courtier whenever the fit he's in | D |
Thinks it prime fun to astonish a citizen | H |
And perhaps it's no wonder that this kind of scrapes | C |
In a nation which Voltaire in one of his japes | C |
Defines 'an amalgam of Tigers and Apes ' | - |
Should be merely considered as 'Little Escapes ' | - |
But I am sorry to add | I |
Things are almost as bad | I |
A great deal nearer home and that similar pranks | C |
Amongst young men who move in the very first ranks | C |
Are by no means confined to the land of the Franks | C |
- | |
Be this as it will | J |
In the general still | J |
Though blame him we must | K |
It is really but just | K |
To our lively young friend Francois Xavier Auguste | K |
To say that howe'er | A |
Well known his faults were | A |
At his Bacchanal parties he always drank fair | A |
And when gambling his worst always play'd on the square | A |
So that being much more of pigeon than rook he | C |
Lost large sums at faro a game like 'Blind Hookey' | E |
And continued to lose And to give I O U 's | C |
Till he lost e'en the credit he had with the Jews | C |
And a parallel if I may venture to draw | A |
Between Francois Xavier Auguste de St Foix | C |
And his namesake a still more distinguished Francois | C |
Who wrote to his 'soeur' | A |
From Pavia 'Mon Coeur | A |
I have lost all I had in the world fors l'honneur ' | - |
So St Foix might have wrote | L |
No dissimilar note | L |
'Vive la bagatelle toujours gai idem semper | A |
I've lost all I had in the world but my temper ' | - |
From the very beginning Indeed of his sinning | E |
His air was so cheerful his manners so winning | E |
That once he prevailed or his friends coin the tale for him | M |
On the bailiff who 'nabbed' him himself to 'go bail' for him | M |
- | |
Well we know in these cases | C |
Your 'Crabs' and 'Deuce Aces' | C |
Are wont to promote frequent changes of places | C |
Town doctors indeed are most apt to declare | A |
That there's nothing so good as the pure 'country air ' | - |
Whenever exhaustion of person or purse in | D |
An invalid cramps him and sets him a cursing | E |
A habit I'm very much grieved at divulging | E |
Francois Xavier Auguste was too prone to indulge in | D |
But what could be done | H |
It's clear as the sun | H |
That though nothing's more easy than say 'Cut and run ' | - |
Yet a Guardsman can't live without some sort of fun | H |
E'en I or you | N |
If we'd nothing to do | N |
Should soon find ourselves looking remarkably blue | N |
And since no one denies | C |
What's so plain to all eyes | C |
It won't I am sure create any surprise | C |
That reflections like these half reduced to despair | A |
Francois Xavier Auguste the gay Black Mousquetaire | A |
- | |
Patience par force He considered of course | C |
But in vain he could hit on no sort of resource | C |
Love Liquor Law Loo | N |
They would each of them do | N |
There's excitement enough in all four but in none he | C |
Could hope to get on sans l'argent i e money | C |
Love no ladies like little cadeaux from a suitor | A |
Liquor no that won't do when reduced to 'the Pewter ' | - |
Then Law ' tis the same | O |
It's a very fine game | O |
But the fees and delays of 'the Courts' are a shame | O |
As Lord Brougham says himself who's a very great name | O |
Though the Times made it clear he was perfectly lost in his | C |
Classic attempt at translating Demosthenes | C |
And don't know his 'particles ' | - |
Who wrote the articles | C |
Showing his Greek up so is not known very well | P |
Many thought Barnes others Mitchell some Merivale | P |
But it's scarce worth debate | Q |
Because from the date | Q |
Of my tale one conclusion we safely may draw | A |
Viz 'twas not Francois Xavier Auguste de St Foix | C |
- | |
Loo No that he had tried 'Twas in fact his weak side | R |
But required more than any a purse well supplied | R |
'Love Liquor Law Loo No 'tis all the same story | C |
Stay I have it Ma foi that's 'Odds Bobs ' there is GLORY | C |
Away with dull care | A |
Vive le Roi Vive la Guerre | A |
Peste I'd almost forgot I'm a Black Mousquetaire | A |
When a man is like me | C |
Sans six sous sans souci | C |
A bankrupt in purse | C |
And in character worse | C |
With a shocking bad hat and his credit at zero | A |
What on earth can he hope to become but a Hero | A |
What a famous thought this is | C |
I'll go as Ulysses | C |
Of old did like him I'll see manners and know countries | C |
Cut Paris and gaming and throats in the Low Countries ' | - |
- | |
So said and so done he arranged his affairs | C |
And was off like a shot to his Black Mousquetaires | C |
- | |
Now it happen'd just then | S |
That Field Marshal Turenne | D |
Was a good deal in want of 'some active young men ' | - |
To fill up the gaps | C |
Which through sundry mishaps | C |
Had been made in his ranks by a certain 'Great Cond ' | - |
A General unrivall'd at least in his own day | C |
Whose valour was such | T |
That he did not care much | T |
If he fought with the French or the Spaniards or Dutch | T |
A fact which has stamped him a rather 'Cool hand ' | - |
Being nearly related to Louis le Grand | U |
It had been all the same had that King been his brother | A |
He fought sometimes with one and sometimes with another | A |
For war so exciting He took such delight in | D |
He did not care whom he fought so he was fighting | E |
And as I've just said had amused himself then | S |
By tickling the tail of Field Marshal Turenne | D |
Since which the Field Marshal's most pressing concern | V |
Was to tickle some other Chief's tail in his turn | V |
- | |
What a fine thing a battle is not one of those | C |
Which one saw at the late Mr Andrew Ducrow's | C |
Where a dozen of scene shifters drawn up in rows | C |
Would a dozen more scene shifters boldly oppose | C |
Taking great care their blows Did not injure their foes | C |
And alike save in colour and cut of their clothes | C |
Which were varied to give more effect to 'Tableaux ' | - |
While Stickney the Great | Q |
Flung the gauntlet to Fate | Q |
And made us all tremble so gallantly did he come | W |
On to encounter bold General Widdicombe | W |
But a real good fight like Pultowa or Ltzen | V |
Which Gustavus the Great ended all his disputes in | V |
Or that which Suwarrow engaged without boots in | V |
Or Dettingen Fontenoy Blenheim or Minden | V |
Or the one Mr Campbell describes Hohenlinden | V |
Where 'the sun was low ' | - |
The ground all over snow | V |
And dark as mid winter the swift Iser's flow | V |
Till its colour was altered by General Moreau | V |
While the big drum was heard in the dead of the night | X |
Which rattled the Bard out of bed in a fright | X |
And he ran up the steeple to look at the fight | X |
'Twas in just such another one | V |
Names only bother one | V |
Dutch ones indeed are sufficient to smother one | V |
In the Netherlands somewhere I cannot say where | A |
Suffice it that there | A |
La Fortune de guerre | A |
Gave a cast of her calling to our Mousquetaire | A |
One fine morning in short Francois Xavier Auguste | K |
After making some scores of his foes 'bite the dust ' | - |
Got a mouthful himself of the very same crust | K |
And though as the Bard says 'No law is more just | K |
Than for Necis artifices ' so they call'd fiery | A |
Soldados at Rome ' arte sua perire ' | - |
Yet Fate did not draw | A |
This poetical law | A |
To its fullest extent in the case of St Foix | C |
His Good Genius most probably found out some flaw | A |
And diverted the shot | Y |
From some deadlier spot | Y |
To a bone which I think to the best of my memory 's | C |
Call'd by Professional men the 'os femoris ' | - |
And the ball being one of those named from its shape | Z |
And some fancied resemblance it bears to the grape | Z |
St Foix went down With a groan and a frown | V |
And a hole in his small clothes the size of a crown | V |
Stagger'd a bit | A2 |
By this 'palpable hit ' | - |
He turn'd on his face and went off in a fit | A2 |
- | |
Yes a Battle's a very fine thing while you're fighting | E |
These same Ups and Downs are so very exciting | E |
But a sombre sight is a Battle field | B2 |
To the sad survivor's sorrowing eye | C2 |
Where those who scorn'd to fly or yield | B2 |
In one promiscuous carnage lie | C2 |
When the cannon's roar | A |
Is heard no more | A |
And the thick dun smoke has roll'd away | C |
And the victor comes for a last survey | C |
Of the well fought field of yesterday | C |
- | |
No triumphs flush that haughty brow | A |
No proud exulting look is there | A |
His eagle glance is humbled now | A |
As earthward bent in anxious care | A |
It seeks the form whose stalwart pride | R |
But yester morn was by his side | R |
- | |
And there it lies on yonder bank | E |
Of corses which themselves had breath | D2 |
But yester morn now cold and dank | E |
With other dews than those of death | D2 |
Powerless as it had ne'er been born | V |
The hand that clasp'd his yester morn | V |
- | |
And there are widows wand'ring there | A |
That roam the blood besprinkled plain | V |
And listen in their dumb despair | A |
For sounds they ne'er may hear again | V |
One word however faint and low | V |
Ay e'en a groan were music now | A |
- | |
And this is Glory Fame | W |
But pshaw | T |
Miss Muse you're growing sentimental | P |
Besides such things we never saw | A |
In fact they're merely Continental | P |
And then your Ladyship forgets | C |
Some widows came for epaulettes | C |
- | |
So go back to your canter for one I declare | A |
Is now fumbling about our capsized Mousquetaire | A |
A beetle browed hag | E |
With a knife and a bag | E |
And an old tatter'd bonnet which thrown back discloses | C |
The ginger complexion and one of those noses | C |
Peculiar to females named Levy and Moses | C |
Such as nervous folks still when they come in their way shun | V |
Old vixen faced tramps of the Hebrew persuasion | V |
- | |
You remember I trust Francois Xavier Auguste | K |
Had uncommon fine limbs and a very fine bust | K |
Now there's something I cannot tell what it may be | A |
About good looking gentlemen turn'd twenty three | A |
Above all when laid up with a wound in the knee | A |
Which affects female hearts in no common degree | A |
With emotions in which many feelings combine | V |
Very easy to fancy though hard to define | V |
Ugly or pretty | A |
Stupid or witty | A |
Young or old they experience in country or city | A |
What's clearly not Love yet it's warmer than Pity | A |
And some such a feeling no doubt 'tis that stays | C |
The hand you may see that old Jezebel raise | C |
Arm'd with the blade | E2 |
So oft used in her trade | E2 |
The horrible calling e'en now she is plying | E |
Despoiling the dead and dispatching the dying | E |
For these 'nimble Conveyancers ' after such battles | C |
Regarding as treasure trove all goods and chattels | C |
Think nought in 'perusing and settling' the titles | C |
So safe as six inches of steel in the vitals | C |
- | |
Now don't make a joke of | F2 |
That feeling I spoke of | F2 |
For as sure as you're born that same feeling whate'er | A |
It may be saves the life of the young Mousquetaire | A |
The knife that was levell'd erewhile at his throat | L |
Is employ'd now in ripping the lace from his coat | L |
And from what I suppose I must call his culotte | L |
And his pockets no doubt | L |
Being turned inside out | L |
That his mouchoir and gloves may be put 'up the spout | L |
For of coin you may well conceive all she can do | L |
Fails to ferret out even a single cu | E |
As a muscular Giant would handle an elf | G2 |
The virago at last lifts the soldier himself | G2 |
And like a She Samson at length lays him down | V |
In a hospital form'd in the neighbouring town | V |
I am not very sure | A |
But I think 'twas Namur | A |
And there she now leaves him expecting a cure | A |
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- | |
Canto II | H2 |
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I abominate physic I care not who knows | C |
That there's nothing on earth I detest like 'a dose' | C |
That yellowish green looking fluid whose hue | L |
I consider extremely unpleasant to view | L |
With its sickly appearance that trenches so near | A |
On what Homer defines the complexion of Fear | A |
Chloron deos I mean | V |
A nasty pale green | V |
Though for want of some word that may better avail | P |
I presume our translators have rendered it 'pale ' | - |
For consider the cheeks | C |
Of those 'well booted Greeks ' | - |
Their Egyptian descent was a question of weeks | C |
Their complexion of course like a half decayed leek's | C |
And you'll see in an instant the thing that I mean in it | L |
A Greek face in a funk had a good deal of green in it | L |
- | |
I repeat I abominate physic but then | V |
If folks will go campaigning about with such men | V |
As the Great Prince de Cond and Marshal Turenne | V |
They may fairly expect | L |
To be now and then check'd | L |
By a bullet or sabre cut Then their best solace is | C |
Found I admit in green potions and boluses | C |
So of course I don't blame | W |
St Foix wounded and lame | W |
If he swallowed a decent quant suff of the same | W |
Though I'm told in such cases it's not the French plan | V |
To pour in their drastics as fast as they can | V |
The practice of many an English Savan | V |
But to let off a man With a little ptisanne | V |
And gently to chafe the patella knee pan | V |
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'Oh woman ' Sir Walter observes 'when the brow | A |
's wrung with pain what a minist'ring Angel art thou ' | - |
Thou'rt a 'minist'ring Angel' in no less degree | A |
I can boldly assert when the pain's in the knee | A |
And medical friction | V |
Is past contradiction | V |
Much better performed by a She than a He | A |
A fact which indeed comes within my own knowledge | I2 |
For I well recollect when a youngster at College | J2 |
And therefore can quote | L |
A surgeon of note | L |
Mr Grosvenor of Oxford who not only wrote | L |
On the subject a very fine treatise but still as his | C |
Patients came in certain soft handed Phyllises | C |
Were at once set to work on their legs arms and backs | C |
And rubbed out their complaints in a couple of cracks | C |
Now they say | C |
To this day | C |
When sick people can't pay | C |
On the Continent many of this kind of nurses | C |
Attend without any demand on their purses | C |
And these females some old others still in their teens | C |
Some call 'Sisters of Charity ' others 'Beguines ' | - |
They don't take the vows but half Nun and half Lay | C |
Attend you and when you've got better they say | C |
'You're exceedingly welcome There's nothing to pay | C |
Our task is now done | V |
You are able to run | V |
We never take money we cure you for fun ' | - |
Then they drop you a court'sy and wish you good day | C |
And go off to cure somebody else the same way | C |
A great many of these at the date of my tale | P |
In Namur walk'd the hospitals workhouse and jail | P |
- | |
Among them was one | V |
A most sweet Demi nun | V |
Her cheek pensive and pale tresses bright as the Sun | V |
Not carrotty no though you'd fancy you saw burn | V |
Such locks as the Greeks lov'd which moderns call auburn | V |
These were partially seen through the veil which they wore all | P |
Her teeth were of pearl and her lips were of coral | P |
Her eye lashes silken her eyes fine large blue ones | C |
Were sapphires I don't call these similes new ones | C |
But in metaphors freely confess I've a leaning | E |
To such new or old as convey best one's meaning | E |
Then for figure In faith it was downright barbarity | A |
To muffle a form | W |
Might an anchorite warm | W |
In the fusty stuff gown of a Soeur de la Charit | A |
And no poet could fancy no painter could draw | A |
One more perfect in all points more free from a flaw | A |
Than her's who now sits by the couch of St Foix | C |
Chafing there | A |
With such care | A |
And so dove like an air | A |
His leg till her delicate fingers are charr'd | A |
With the Steer's opodeldoc joint oil and goulard | A |
Their Dutch appellations are really too hard | A |
To be brought into verse by a transmarine Bard | A |
- | |
Now you'll see | C |
And agree | C |
I am certain with me | C |
When a young man's laid up with a wound in his knee | C |
And a lady sits there | A |
On a rush bottom'd chair | A |
To hand him the mixtures his doctors prepare | A |
And a bit of lump sugar to make matters square | A |
Above all when the Lady's remarkably fair | A |
And the wounded young man is a gay Mousquetaire | A |
It's a ticklish affair you may swear for the pair | A |
And may lead on to mischief before they're aware | A |
- | |
I really don't think spite of what friends would call his | C |
'Penchant for liaisons ' and graver men 'follies ' | - |
For my own part I think planting thorns on their pillows | C |
And leaving poor maidens to weep and wear willows | C |
Is not to be classed among mere peccadillos | C |
His 'faults ' I should say I don't think Francois Xavier | A |
Entertain'd any thoughts of improper behaviour | A |
Tow'rds his nurse or that once to induce her to sin he meant | A |
While superintending his draughts and his liniment | A |
But as he grew stout | A |
And was getting about | A |
Thoughts came into his head that had better been out | A |
While Cupid's an urchin | V |
We know deserves birching | E |
He's so prone to delude folks and leave them the lurch in | V |
'Twas doubtless his doing | E |
That absolute ruin | V |
Was the end of all poor dear Therese's shampooing | E |
'Tis a subject I don't like to dwell on but such | T |
Things will happen ay e'en 'mongst the phlegmatic Dutch | T |
- | |
'When Woman ' as Goldsmith declares 'stoops to folly | C |
And finds out too late that false man can betray ' | - |
She is apt to look dismal and grow 'melan choly ' | - |
And in short to be anything rather than gay | E |
- | |
He goes on to remark that 'to punish her lover | A |
Wring his bosom and draw the tear into his eye | C2 |
There is but one method' which he can discover | A |
That's likely to answer that one is 'to die ' | - |
- | |
He's wrong the wan and withering cheek | E |
The thin lips pale and drawn apart | A |
The dim yet tearless eyes that speak | E |
The misery of the breaking heart | A |
- | |
The wasted form th' enfeebled tone | V |
That whispering mocks the pitying ear | A |
Th' imploring glances heaven ward thrown | V |
As heedless helpless hopeless here | A |
- | |
These wring the false one's heart enough | K2 |
'If made of penetrable stuff ' | - |
And poor Therese | C |
Thus pines and decays | C |
Till stung with remorse St Foix takes a post chaise | C |
With for 'wheelers ' two bays | C |
And for 'leaders ' two greys | C |
And soon reaches France by the help of relays | C |
Flying shabbily off from the sight of his victim | W |
And driving as fast as if Old Nick had kick'd him | W |
- | |
She poor sinner | A |
Grows thinner and thinner | A |
Leaves off eating breakfast and luncheon and dinner | A |
Till you'd really suppose she could have nothing in her | A |
One evening 'twas just as the clock struck eleven | V |
They saw she'd been sinking fast ever since seven | V |
She breath'd one deep sigh threw one look up to Heaven | V |
And all was o'er Poor Therese was no more | A |
She was gone the last breath that she managed to draw | A |
Escaped in one half uttered word 'twas 'St Foix ' | - |
- | |
- | |
Who can fly from himself Bitter cares when you feel 'em | W |
Are not cured by travel as Horace says 'Clum | W |
Non animum mutant qui currunt trans mare ' | - |
It's climate not mind that by roaming men vary | C |
Remorse for temptation to which you have yielded is | C |
A shadow you can't sell as Peter Schlemil did his | C |
It haunts you for ever in bed and at board | A |
Ay e'en in your dreams | C |
And you can't find it seems | C |
Any proof that a guilty man ever yet snored | A |
It is much if he slumbers at all which but few | L |
Francois Xavier Auguste was an instance can do | L |
Indeed from the time | W |
He committed the crime | W |
Which cut off poor sister Therese in her prime | W |
He was not the same man that he had been his plan | V |
Was quite changed in wild freaks he no more led the van | V |
He'd scarce sleep a wink in | V |
A week but sit thinking | E |
From company shrinking | E |
He quite gave up drinking | E |
At the mess table too where now seldom he came | W |
Fish fricassee fricandeau potage or game | W |
Dindon aux truffes or turbotla crme | W |
No he still shook his head it was always the same | W |
Still he never complained that the cook was to blame | W |
'Twas his appetite fail'd him no matter how rare | A |
And recherch the dish how delicious the fare | A |
What he used to like best he no longer could bear | A |
But he'd sit there and stare | A |
With an air of despair | A |
Took no care but would wear | A |
Boots that wanted repair | A |
Such a shirt too you'd think he'd no linen to spare | A |
He omitted to shave he neglected his hair | A |
And look'd more like a Guy than a gay Mousquetaire | A |
One thing above all most excited remark | E |
In the evening he seldom sat long after dark | E |
Not that then as of yore he'd go out for 'a lark' | E |
With his friends but when they | E |
After taking caf | L |
Would have broiled bones and kidneys brought in on a tray | E |
Which I own I consider a very good way | E |
If a man's not dyspeptic to wind up the day | E |
No persuasion on earth could induce him to stay | E |
But he'd take up his candlestick just nod his head | A |
By way of 'Good evening ' and walk off to bed | A |
Yet even when there he seem'd no better off | L |
For he'd wheeze and he'd sneeze and he'd hem and he'd cough | L |
And they'd hear him all night | A |
Sometimes sobbing outright | A |
While his valet who often endeavour'd to peep | L2 |
Declared that 'his master was never asleep | L2 |
But would sigh and would groan slap his forehead and weep | L2 |
That about ten o'clock | E |
His door he would lock | E |
And then never would open it let who would knock | E |
He had heard him ' he said | A |
'Sometimes jump out of bed | A |
And talk as if speaking to one who was dead | A |
He'd groan and he'd moan | V |
In so piteous a tone | V |
Begging some one or other to let him alone | V |
That it really would soften the heart of a stone | V |
To hear him exclaim so and call upon Heaven | V |
Then The bother began always just at eleven ' | - |
- | |
Francois Xavier Auguste as I've told you before | A |
I believe was a popular man in his corps | A |
And his comrades not one | V |
Of whom knew of the Nun | V |
Now began to consult what was best to be done | V |
Count Cordon Bleu | L |
And the Sieur de la Roue | A |
Confess'd they did not know at all what to do | L |
But the Chevalier Hippolyte Hector Achille | C |
Alphonse Stanislaus Emile de Grandville | C |
Made a fervent appeal | C |
To the zeal they must feel | C |
For their friend so distinguished an officer 's weal | C |
'The first thing ' he said 'was to find out the matter | A |
That bored their poor friend so and caused all this clatter | A |
Mort de ma vie ' | - |
Here he took some rappee | L2 |
'Be the cause what it may he shall tell it to me ' | - |
He was right sure enough in a couple of days | C |
He worms out the whole story of Sister Therese | C |
Now entomb'd poor dear soul in some Dutch Pre la Chaise | C |
'But the worst thing of all ' Francois Xavier declares | C |
'Is whenever I've taken my candle up stairs | C |
There's Therese sitting there upon one of those chairs | C |
Such a frown too she wears | C |
And so frightfully glares | C |
That I'm really prevented from saying my pray'rs | C |
While an odour the very reverse of perfume | W |
More like rhubarb or senna pervades the whole room ' | - |
- | |
Hector Achille Stanislaus Emile | C |
When he heard him talk so felt an odd sort of feel | C |
Not that he cared for Ghosts he was far too genteel | C |
Still a queerish sensation came on when he saw | C |
Him whom for fun | V |
They'd by way of a pun | V |
On his person and principles nick named Sans Foi | L |
A man whom they had you see | C |
Mark'd as a Sadducee | C |
In his horns all at once so completely to draw | C |
And to talk of a Ghost with such manifest awe | C |
It excited the Chevalier Grandville's surprise | C |
He shrugg'd up his shoulders he turned up his eyes | C |
And he thought with himself that he could not do less | C |
Than lay the whole matter before the whole mess | C |
- | |
Repetition's detestable So as you're best able | C |
Paint to yourself the effect at the Mess table | C |
How the bold Brigadiers | C |
Prick'd up their ears | C |
And received the account some with fears some with sneers | C |
How the Sieur de la Roue | C |
Said to Count Cordon Bleu | C |
'Ma foi c'est bien drle Monseigneur what say you ' | - |
How Count Cordon Bleu | C |
Declared he 'thought so too ' | - |
How the Colonel affirm'd that 'the case was quite new ' | - |
How the Captains and Majors | C |
Began to lay wagers | C |
How far the Ghost part of the story was true | C |
How at last when asked 'What was the best thing to do ' | - |
Everybody was silent for nobody knew | C |
And how in the end they said 'No one could deal | C |
With the matter so well from his prudence and zeal | C |
As the Gentleman who was the first to reveal | C |
This strange story viz Hippolyte Hector Achille | C |
Alphonse Stanislaus Emile de Grandville ' | - |
- | |
I need scarcely relate | A |
The plans little and great | A |
Which came into the Chevalier Hippolyte's pate | A |
To rescue his friend from his terrible foes | C |
Those mischievous Imps whom the world I suppose | C |
From extravagant notions respecting their hue | C |
Has strangely agreed to denominate 'Blue ' | - |
Inasmuch as his schemes were of no more avail | C |
Than those he had early in life found to fail | C |
When he strove to lay salt on some little bird's tail | C |
In vain did he try | C |
With strong waters to ply | C |
His friend on the ground that he never could spy | C |
Such a thing as a Ghost with a drop in his eye | C |
St Foix never would drink now unless he was dry | C |
Besides what the vulgar call 'sucking the monkey' | E |
Has much less effect on a man when he's funky | E |
In vain did he strive to detain him at table | C |
Till his 'dark hour' was over he never was able | C |
Save once when at Mess | C |
With that sort of address | C |
Which the British call 'Humbug ' and Frenchmen 'Finesse' | C |
It's 'Blarney' in Irish I don't know the Scotch | T |
He fell to admiring his friend's English watch | T |
He examined the face | C |
And the back of the case | C |
And the young Lady's portrait there done on enamel he | E |
'Saw by the likeness was one of the family ' | - |
Cried 'Superbe Magnifique ' With his tongue in his cheek | E |
Then he open'd the case just to take a peep in it and | A |
Seized the occasion to pop back the minute hand | A |
With a demi cong and a shrug and a grin he | E |
Returns the bijou and c'est une affaire finie | C |
'I've done him ' thinks he 'now I'll wager a guinea ' | - |
It happen'd that day | E |
They were all very gay | E |
'Twas the Grand Monarque's birthday that is 'twas St Louis's | C |
Which in Catholic countries of course they would view as his | C |
So when Hippolyte saw | C |
Him about to withdraw | C |
He cried 'Come that won't do my fine fellow St Foix | C |
Give us five minutes longer and drink Vive le Roi ' | - |
- | |
Francois Xavier Auguste | A |
Without any mistrust | A |
Of the trick that was play'd drew his watch from his fob | M2 |
Just glanced at the hour then agreed to 'hob nob ' | - |
Fill'd a bumper and rose | C |
With 'Messieurs I propose | C |
He paused his blanch'd lips fail'd to utter the toast | A |
'Twas eleven he thought it half past ten at most | A |
Ev'ry limb nerve and muscle grew stiff as a post | A |
His jaw dropp'd his eyes | C |
Swell'd to twice their own size | C |
And he stood as a pointer would stand at a Ghost | A |
Then shriek'd as he fell on the floor like a stone | C |
'Ah Sister Therese now do let me alone ' | - |
- | |
- | |
It's amazing by sheer perseverance what men do | C |
As water wears stone by the 'Spe cadendo ' | - |
If they stick to Lord Somebody's motto 'Agendo ' | - |
Was it not Robert Bruce I declare I've forgot | A |
But I think it was Robert you'll find it in Scott | A |
Who when cursing Dame Fortune was taught by a Spider | C |
'She's sure to come round if you will but abide her ' | - |
Then another great Rob | N2 |
Called 'White headed Bob ' | - |
Whom I once saw receive such a thump on the 'nob' | N2 |
From a fist which might almost an elephant brain | C |
That I really believed at the first he was slain | C |
For he lay like a log on his back on the plain | C |
Till a gentleman present accustomed to train | C |
Drew out a small lancet and open'd a vein | C |
Just below his left eye which relieving the pain | C |
He stood up like a trump with an air of disdain | C |
While his 'backer' was fain For he could not refrain | C |
He was dress'd in pea green with a pin and gold chain | C |
And I think I heard somebody call him 'Squire Hayne ' | - |
To whisper ten words one should always retain | C |
'TAKE A SUCK AT THE LEMON AND AT HIM AGAIN ' | - |
A hint ne'er surpass'd though thus spoken at random | W |
Since Teucer's apostrophe Nil desperandum | W |
Grandville acted on it and order'd his Tandem | W |
He had heard St Foix say | C |
That no very great way | C |
From Namur was a snug little town called Grandpr | C |
Near which a few miles from the banks of the Maese | C |
Dwelt a pretty twin sister of poor dear Therese | C |
Of the same age of course the same father same mother | C |
And as like to Therese as one pea to another | C |
She liv'd with her Mamma Having lost her Papa | L2 |
Late of contraband schnaps an unlicensed distiller | C |
And her name was Des Moulins in English Miss Miller | C |
- | |
Now though Hippolyte Hector | C |
Could hardly expect her | C |
To feel much regard for her sister's 'protector ' | - |
When she'd seen him so shamefully leave and neglect her | C |
Still he very well knew In this world there are few | C |
But are ready much Christian forgiveness to show | T |
For other folk's wrongs if well paid so to do | C |
And he'd seen to what acts 'Res angust' compel beaux | T |
And belles whose affairs have once got out at elbows | C |
With the magic effect of a handful of crowns | C |
Upon people whose pockets boast nothing but 'browns ' | - |
A few francs well applied | A |
He'd no doubt would decide | A |
Miss Agnes Des Moulins to jump up and ride | A |
As far as head quarters next day by his side | A |
For the distance was nothing to speak by comparison | C |
To the town where the Mousquetaires now lay in garrison | C |
Then he thought by the aid | A |
Of a veil and gown made | A |
Like those worn by the lady his friend had betray'd | A |
They might dress up Miss Agnes so like to the Shade | A |
Which he fancied he saw of that poor injured maid | A |
Come each night with her pale face his guilt to upbraid | A |
That if once introduced to his room thus array'd | A |
And then unmask'd as soon as she'd long enough stay'd | A |
'Twould be no very difficult task to persuade | A |
Him the whole was a scurvy trick cleverly play'd | A |
Out of spite and revenge by a mischievous jade | A |
- | |
With respect to the scheme though I do not call that a gem | W |
Still I've known soldiers adopt a worse stratagem | W |
And that too among the decided approvers | C |
Of General Sir David Dundas's 'Manoeuvres ' | - |
There's a proverb however | C |
I've always thought clever | C |
Which my Grandmother never was tired of repeating | E |
'The proof of the pudding is found in the eating ' | - |
We shall see in the sequel how Hector Achille | E |
- | |
Had mix'd up the suet and plums for his meal | C |
The night had set in ' twas a dark and a gloomy one | C |
Off went St Foix to his chamber a roomy one | C |
Five stories high | C |
The first floor from the sky | C |
And lofty enough to afford great facility | E |
For playing a game with the youthful nobility | E |
Of 'crack corps ' a deal in Request when they're feeling | E |
In dull country quarters ennui on them stealing | E |
A wet wafer's applied | A |
To a sixpence's side | A |
Then it's spun with the thumb up to stick on the ceiling | E |
Intellectual amusement which custom allows old troops | C |
I've seen it here practiced at home by our Household troops | C |
He'd a table and bed | A |
And three chairs and all's said | A |
A bachelor's barrack where'er you discern it you're | C |
Sure not to find overburthen'd with furniture | C |
- | |
Francois Xavier Auguste lock'd and bolted his door | C |
With just the same caution he'd practiced before | C |
Little he knew | C |
That the Count Cordon Bleu | C |
With Hector Achille and the Sieur de la Roue | C |
Had been up there before him and drawn ev'ry screw | C |
- | |
And now comes the moment the watches and clocks | C |
All point to eleven the bolts and the locks | C |
Give way and the party turn out their bag fox | C |
With step noiseless and light | A |
Though half in a fright | A |
A cup in her left hand a draught in her right | A |
In her robe long and black and her veil long and white | A |
Ma'amselle Agnes des Moulins walks in as a Sprite | A |
She approaches the bed | A |
With the same silent tread | A |
Just as though she had been at least half a year dead | A |
Then seating herself on the 'rush bottom'd chair ' | - |
Throws a cold stony glance on the Black Mousquetaire | C |
- | |
If you're one of the 'play going public ' kind reader | C |
And not a Moravian or rigid Seceder | C |
You've seen Mr Kean | C |
I mean in that scene | C |
Of Macbeth by some thought the crack one of the piece | C |
Which has been so well painted by Mr M'Clise | C |
When he wants after having stood up to say grace | C |
To sit down to his haggis and can't find a place | C |
You remember his stare | C |
At the high back'd arm chair | C |
Where the Ghost sits that nobody else knows is there | C |
And how after saying 'What man dares I dare ' | - |
He proceeds to declare | C |
He should not so much care | C |
If it came in the shape of a 'tiger' or 'bear ' | - |
But he don't like it shaking its long gory hair | C |
While the obstinate Ghost as determined to brave him | W |
With a horrible grin | C |
Sits and cocks up his chin | C |
Just as though he was asking the tyrant to shave him | W |
And Lennox and Rosse | C |
Seem quite at a loss | C |
If they ought to go on with their sheep's head and sauce | C |
And Lady Macbeth looks uncommonly cross | C |
And says in a huff | L |
It's all 'Proper stuff ' | - |
All this you'll have seen Reader often enough | L |
So perhaps 'twill assist you in forming some notion | C |
Of what must have been Francois Xavier's emotion | C |
If you fancy what troubled | A |
Macbeth to be doubled | A |
And instead of one Banquo to stare in his face | C |
Without 'speculation ' suppose he'd a brace | C |
- | |
I wish I'd poor Fuseli's pencil who ne'er I bel | C |
ieve was exceeded in painting the terrible | C |
Or that of Sir Joshua Reynolds who was so a | L2 |
droit in depicting it vide his piece | C |
Descriptive of Cardinal Beaufort's decease | C |
Where that prelate is lying | E |
Decidedly dying | E |
With the King and his suite | A |
Standing just at his feet | A |
And his hands as Dame Quickly says fumbling the sheet | A |
While close at his ear with the air of a scorner | C |
'Busy meddling ' Old Nick's grinning up in the corner | C |
But painting's an art I confess I am raw in | C |
The fact is I never took lessons in drawing | E |
Had I done so instead | A |
Of the lines you have read | A |
I'd have giv'n you a sketch should have fill'd you with dread | A |
Francois Xavier Auguste squatting up in his bed | A |
His hands widely spread | A |
His complexion like lead | A |
Ev'ry hair that he has standing up on his head | A |
As when Agnes des Moulins first catching his view | C |
Now right and now left rapid glances he threw | C |
Then shriek'd with a wild and unearthly halloo | C |
'Mon Dieu v'la deux | C |
By the Pope there are two | C |
- | |
He fell back one long aspiration he drew | C |
In flew De la Roue And Count Cordon Bleu | C |
Pommade Pomme de terre and the rest of their crew | C |
He stirr'd not he spoke not he none of them knew | C |
And Achille cried 'Odzooks I fear by his looks | C |
Our friend Francois Xavier has popp'd off the hooks ' | - |
- | |
'Twas too true | C |
Malheureux | C |
It was done he had ended his earthly career | C |
He had gone off at once with a flea in his ear | C |
The Black Mousquetaire was as dead as Small beer | C |
- | |
- | |
L'Envoye | C |
- | |
A moral more in point I scarce could hope | L2 |
Than this from Mr Alexander Pope | L2 |
- | |
If ever chance should bring some Cornet gay | C |
And pious Maid as possibly it may | C |
From Knightsbridge Barracks and the shades serene | C |
Of Clapham Rise as far as Kensal Green | C |
O'er some pale marble when they join their heads | C |
To kiss the falling tears each other sheds | C |
Oh may they pause and think in silent awe | C |
He that he reads the words 'Ci git St Foix ' | - |
She that the tombstone which her eye surveys | C |
Bears this sad line 'Hic jacet Soeur Therese ' | - |
Then shall they sigh and weep and murmuring say | C |
'Oh may we never play such tricks as they ' | - |
And if at such a time some Bard there be | E |
Some sober Bard addicted much to tea | E |
And sentimental song like Ingoldsby | E |
If such there be who sings and sips so well | C |
Let him this sad this tender story tell | C |
Warn'd by the tale the gentle pair shall boast | A |
'I've 'scaped the Broken Heart ' 'and I the Ghost | A |
Richard Harris Barham
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