Upon graciously coming again to his mind,[5]
That improvement had spoiled any favorite adviser--
That Rose was grown honest, or Westmoreland wiser--
That R--d--r was, even by one twinkle, the brighter--
Or Liverpool speeches but half a pound lighter--
What a shock to his old royal heart it would be!
No!--far were such dreams of improvement from me:
And it pleased me to find, at the House, where, you know,[6]
There's such good mutton cutlets, and strong curacoa,[7]
That the Marchioness called me a duteous old boy,
And my Yarmouth's red whiskers grew redder for joy.
You know, my dear Freddy, how oft, if I _would_,
By the law of last sessions I _might_ have done good.
I _might_ have withheld these political noodles
From knocking their heads against hot Yankee Doodles;
I _might_ have told Ireland I pitied her lot,
Might have soothed her with hope--but you know I did not.
And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old fellows
Should not, on recovering, have cause to be jealous,
But find that while he has been laid on the shelf
We've been all of us nearly as mad as himself.
You smile at my hopes--but the Doctors and I
Are the last that can think the King _ever_ will die.[8]
A new era's arrived[9]--tho' you'd hardly believe it--
And all things of course must be new to receive it.
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