There's the REGENT, there's LOUIS--and BONEY tried too,
But, tho' somewhat imperial in paunch, 'twouldn't do:--
He improved indeed much in this point when he wed,
But he ne'er grew right royally fat _in the head_.
DICK, DICK, what a place is this Paris!--but stay--
As my raptures may bore you, I'll just sketch a Day,
As we pass it, myself and some comrades I've got,
All thorough-bred _Gnostics_, who know what is what.
After dreaming some hours of the land of Cocaigne,
That Elysium of all that is _friand_ and nice,
Where for hail they have _bon-bons_, and claret for rain,
And the skaters in winter show off on _cream_-ice;
Where so ready all nature its cookery yields,
_Macaroni au parmesan_ grows in the fields;
Little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint,
And the geese are all born with a liver complaint!
I rise--put on neck-cloth--stiff, tight, as can be--
For a lad who _goes into the world_, DICK, like me,
Should have his neck tied up, you know--there's no doubt of it--
Almost as tight as _some_ lads who _go out of it_.
With whiskers well oiled, and with boots that "hold up
"The mirror to nature"--so bright you could sup
Off the leather like china; with coat, too, that draws
On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's applause!--
With head bridled up, like a four-in-hand leader,
And stays--devil's in them--too tight for a feeder,
I strut to the old Cafe Hardy, which yet
Beats the field at a _dejeuner a la fourchette_.
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