When Royalty was young and bold,
Ere, touched by Time, he had become--
If 'tisn't civil to say _old_,
At least, a _ci-devant jeune homme_;
One evening, on some wild pursuit
Driving along, he chanced to see
Religion, passing by on foot,
And took him in his vis-a-vis.
This said Religion was a Friar,
The humblest and the best of men,
Who ne'er had notion or desire
Of riding in a coach till then.
"I say"--quoth Royalty, who rather
Enjoyed a masquerading joke--
"I say, suppose, my good old father,
"You lend me for a while your cloak."
The Friar consented--little knew
What tricks the youth had in his head;
Besides, was rather tempted too
By a laced coat he got instead.
Away ran Royalty, slap-dash,
Scampering like mad about the town;
Broke windows, shivered lamps to smash,
And knockt whole scores of watchmen down.
While naught could they, whose heads were broke,
Learn of the "why" or the "wherefore,"
Except that 'twas Religion's cloak
The gentleman, who crackt them, wore,
Meanwhile, the Friar, whose head was turned
By the laced coat, grew frisky too;
Lookt big--his former habits spurned--
And stormed about, as great men do:
Dealt much in pompous oaths and curses--
Said "Damn you" often, or as bad--
Laid claim to other people's purses--
In short, grew either knaves or mad.
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