 | English Roses |  |
PIMPLE AND PATCH.
Jonathan Brown
Thought he had gotten a heavenly crown,
Only because of the wonderful Patch
Stuck to his life without any proportion,
Darned on his conduct with funny distortion,
Just as his roof with its yellower thatch.
O and he cried to his cronies, the two,
Robert the Radical, Dickson the Tory,
“Here is the thing for you sinners to do—
I'm going up in a carriage of glory.”
Jonathan Brown
Thought he had gotten
Although he was rotten,
Something uncommonly like to a crown.
Thought he had gotten a heavenly crown,
Only because of the wonderful Patch
312
Darned on his conduct with funny distortion,
Just as his roof with its yellower thatch.
O and he cried to his cronies, the two,
Robert the Radical, Dickson the Tory,
“Here is the thing for you sinners to do—
I'm going up in a carriage of glory.”
Jonathan Brown
Thought he had gotten
Although he was rotten,
Something uncommonly like to a crown.
Jonathan Brown
Thought that the heaven itself had come down,
Only because of his wonderful wart;
Aye, and his neighbours the sage and the simple,
Sat in the shadow of his pretty Pimple—
As if the ocean were clapt in a quart!
Cheering themselves on its marvellous length,
Colour and bulk and unheard of pomposity;
Fain to renew their opinions and strength,
Under its shameless and vulgar monstrosity.
Jonathan Brown
Thought that the heaven
Itself was the leaven,
Raising him up when he really was down.
Thought that the heaven itself had come down,
Only because of his wonderful wart;
Aye, and his neighbours the sage and the simple,
Sat in the shadow of his pretty Pimple—
As if the ocean were clapt in a quart!
Cheering themselves on its marvellous length,
Colour and bulk and unheard of pomposity;
Fain to renew their opinions and strength,
Under its shameless and vulgar monstrosity.
Jonathan Brown
Thought that the heaven
Itself was the leaven,
Raising him up when he really was down.
Jonathan Brown
Thought that a deluge was coming to drown
All but himself with his Pimple and Patch,
Cottager, King, from the pug to the pigeon—
Every one not of his own pet religion,
Scorning with him on his dung-heap to scratch.
Therefore his tongue was as sharp as a sword
Whetted by faith on the Patch and the Pimple,
Cursing the people and praising the Lord,
Sparing no saint nor the child with its dimple.
Jonathan Brown
Thought that the Devil
Would soon have a revel,
While he alone was the sinner to drown.
Thought that a deluge was coming to drown
All but himself with his Pimple and Patch,
Cottager, King, from the pug to the pigeon—
Every one not of his own pet religion,
Scorning with him on his dung-heap to scratch.
Therefore his tongue was as sharp as a sword
Whetted by faith on the Patch and the Pimple,
Cursing the people and praising the Lord,
Sparing no saint nor the child with its dimple.
Jonathan Brown
Thought that the Devil
Would soon have a revel,
While he alone was the sinner to drown.
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