LE PRINCE S'AMUSE.

My life is held to be a round of Pleasures;

All I can say is, they who thus would rate it,

For life's delights have most peculiar measures:

For though in plainest English they don't state it,

'Tis clear "no recreation" meets their views,

Or why that sneering cry, "Le Prince s'amuse?"

Or do they think a Prince, without repining,

Foundation-stones unceasingly is laying,

Rewarded with a glut of public dining,

The pangs of hunger ever to be staying,

Is recreation such as he would choose?

If so—I understand "Le Prince s'amuse!"

But how a world that notes his daily doings,

The everlasting round of weary function,—

The health-returnings, speeches, interviewings.

Can grudge him some relief, without compunction,

Seems quite to me "another pair of shoes!"

Dyspeptic is that cry, "Le Prince s'amuse!"