hand;
So gentle was I wont to be
A Curate might have played with me.

People accord me little praise,
Yet I am not the least alarming;
I can recall, in bygone days,
A maid once said she thought me charming.
She was my friend,—no more I vow,—
And—she's in an asylum now.

Girls used to clamour for my hand,
Girls I refused in simple dozens;
I said I'd be their brother, and
They promised they would be my cousins.
(One, I accepted,—more or less—
But I've forgotten her address.)

They worried me like anything
By their proposals ev'ry day,
Until at last I had to ring
The bell, and have them cleared away;
(I often pondered on the cost
Of getting them completely lost.)

To share my somewhat lofty rank
Was what they panted for, like mad;
You see my balance at the bank
Was not so small, and, I may add,
A Castle, Gothic and immense,
Is my Official Residence.

It overlooks a many a mile
Of park, of gardens and domains;
I'm staying now in lodgings, while
They're doing up the—well—the drains,—
For they began to give offence
At my Official Residence.

And, when I entertain at home,
I hardly ever fail to please,
The "upper tens" alone may come
To join in my "recherché" teas;
I am a King in ev'ry sense
At my Official Residence.

My dances, on a parquet floor,
My royal dinners, which consist
Of fifteen courses, sometimes more,
Are things that are not lightly missed;
In fact I do not spare expense
At my Official Residence.

My hospitality to those
Whom I invite to come and stay
Is famed; my wine like water flows,
Exactly like, some people say,
But this is mere impertinence
At my Official Residence.

When through the streets I walk about
My subjects stand and kiss their hands,
Raise a refined metallic shout,
Wave flags and warble tunes on bands,
While bunting hangs on ev'ry front,—
With my commands to let it bunt.

When I come home again, of course,
Retainers are employed to cheer,
My paid domestics get quite hoarse
Acclaiming me, and you can hear
The welkin ringing to the sky,—
Aye, aye, and let it welk, say I!

And yet, in spite of this, there are
Some persons who, at diff'rent times,
—(Because I am so popular)—
Accuse me of most awful crimes;
A girl once said I was a flirt!
Oh my! how the expression hurt!

I never flirted in the least,
Never for very long, I mean,—
Ask any lady (now deceased)
Who partner of my life has been;—
Oh well, of course, sometimes, perhaps,
I meet a girl, like other chaps.

And, if I like her very much,
And if she cares for me a bit,
Where is the harm of look or touch
If neither of us mentions it?
It isn't right, I don't suppose,
But no one's hurt if no one knows!

And, if I placed my hand below
Her chin and raised her face an inch,