THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT. W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
The noble king of Brentford
Was old and very sick;
He summoned his physicians
To wait upon him quick;
They stepped into their coaches,
And brought their best physic.
They crammed their gracious master
With potion and with pill;
They drenched him and they bled him;
They could not cure his ill.
"Go fetch," says he, "my lawyer;
I'd better make my will."
The monarch's royal mandate
The lawyer did obey;
The thought of six-and-eightpence
Did make his heart full gay.
"What is't," says he, "your majesty
Would wish of me to-day?"
"The doctors have belabored me
With potion and with pill;
My hours of life are counted
O man of tape and quill!
Sit down and mend a pen or two,
I want to make my will.
"O'er all the land of Brentford
I'm lord and eke of Kew:
I've three per cents and five per cents;
My debts are but a few;
And to inherit after me
I have but children two.
"Prince Thomas is my eldest son,
A sober prince is he;
And from the day we breeched him,
Till now he's twenty-three,
He never caused disquiet
To his poor mamma or me.
"At school they never flogged him;
At college, though not fast,
Yet his little go and great go
He creditably passed,
And made his year's allowance
For eighteen months to last.
"He never owed a shilling,
Went never drunk to bed,
He has not two ideas
Within his honest head;
In all respects he differs
From my second son, Prince Ned.
"When Tom has half his income
Laid by at the year's end,
Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver
That rightly he may spend,
But sponges on a tradesman,
Or borrows from a friend.