Alack for Count Raymond! he could not conceive How the case really stood, or know what to believe; Nor could Rigmaree settle to laugh or to grieve. There was clearly a hoax, But which of the folks Had managed to make them the butt of their jokes, Wife or Wizard, they both knew no more than Jack Nokes; That glass of the Wizard's Stuck much in their gizzards, His cap, and his queer cloak all X's and Izzards; Then they found, when they came to examine again, Some slight falling off in the stock of champagne, Small, but more than the butler could fairly explain. However, since nothing could make the truth known, Why,—they thought it was best to let matters alone. The Count in the garden Begg'd Isabel's pardon Next morning for waking her up in a fright, By the racket he'd kicked up at that time of night; And gave her his word he had ne'er misbehaved so, Had he not come home as tipsy as David's sow. Still, to give no occasion for family snarls, The Friar was pack'd back to his convent at Arles, While as for the Prior, At Raymond's desire, The Pope raised his rev'rence a step or two higher, And made him a Bishop in partibus—where His see was I cannot exactly declare, Or describe his cathedral, not having been there, But I dare say you'll all be prepared for the news, When I say 'twas a good many miles from Thoulouse, Where the prelate, in order to set a good precedent, Was enjoined, as a sine quâ non, to be resident. You will fancy with me, That Count Raymond was free, For the rest of his life, from his former ennui; Still it somehow occurr'd that as often as he Chanced to look in the face of my Lord Rigmaree, There was something or other—a trifling degree Of constraint—or embarrassment—easy to see, And which seem'd to be shared by the noble Mar-quis, While the ladies—the queerest of all things by half in My tale, never met from that hour without laughing!
Good gentlemen all, who are subjects of Hymen, Don't make new acquaintances rashly, but try men, Avoid above all things your cunning (that's sly) men! Don't go out o' nights To see conjuring sleights, But shun all such people, delusion whose trade is; Be wise!—stay at home and take tea with the ladies.
If you chance to be out, At a "regular bout," And get too much of "Abbot's Pale Ale" or "Brown Stout," Don't be cross when you come home at night to your spouse, Nor be noisy, nor kick up a dust in the house!
Be careful yourself, and admonish your sons, To beware of all folks who love twopenny buns! And don't introduce to your wife or your daughter A sleek, meek, weak gent—who subsists on cold water!
FOOTNOTES:
"The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad."
Gilpin's Tour in Middlesex and Herts.