“Who’s the Knight-Mayor?” I cried. Instead
Of answering my question,
“Well, if you don’t know that,” he said,
“Either you never go to bed,
Or you’ve a grand digestion!
“He goes about and sits on folk
That eat too much at night:
His duties are to pinch, and poke,
And squeeze them till they nearly choke.”
(I said “It serves them right!”)
“And folk who sup on things like these—”
He muttered, “eggs and bacon—
Lobster—and duck—and toasted cheese—
If they don’t get an awful squeeze,
I’m very much mistaken!
“He is immensely fat, and so
Well suits the occupation:
In point of fact, if you must know,
We used to call him years ago,
The Mayor and Corporation!
“The day he was elected Mayor
I know that every Sprite meant
To vote for me, but did not dare—
He was so frantic with despair
And furious with excitement.
“When it was over, for a whim,
He ran to tell the King;
And being the reverse of slim,
A two-mile trot was not for him
A very easy thing.
“So, to reward him for his run
(As it was baking hot,
And he was over twenty stone),
The King proceeded, half in fun,
To knight him on the spot.”