Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER; A TRAVESTY, by JOHN GODFREY SAXE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER; A TRAVESTY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Perhaps, my dear boy, you may never have heard
Last Line: By unpleasant allusions and rude observations!
Subject(s): Cruelty; Richard Iii, King Of England (1452-1485)


PERHAPS, my dear boy, you may never have heard
Of that wicked old monarch, King Richard the Third, --
Whose actions were often extremely absurd;
And who lived such a sad life,
Such a wanton and mad life;
Indeed, I may say, such a wretchedly bad life,
I suppose I am perfectly safe in declaring,
There was ne'er such a monster of infamous daring.
In all sorts of crime he was wholly unsparing;
In pride and ambition was quite beyond bearing;
And had a bad habit of cursing and swearing.
I must own, my dear boy, I have more than suspected
The King's education was rather neglected;
And that at your school with any two "Dicks"
Whom your excellent teacher diurnally pricks
In his neat little tables, in order to fix
Each pupil's progression with numeral nicks,
Master Richard Y. Gloster would often have heard
His standing recorded as "Richard -- the third!"
But whatever of learning his Majesty had,
'T is clear the King's English was shockingly bad.
At the slightest pretense
Of disloyal offense,
His anger exceeded all reason or sense;
And, having no need to foster or nurse it, he
Would open his wrath, then, as if to disperse it, he
Would scatter his curses like College degrees;
And, quite at his ease,
Conferred his "d-d 's,"
As plenty and cheap as a young University!
And yet Richard's tongue was remarkably smooth,
Could utter a lie quite as easy as truth
(Another bad habit he got in his youth),
And had, on occasion, a powerful battery
Of plausible phrases and eloquent flattery,
Which gave him, my boy, in that barbarous day
(Things are different now, I am happy to say),
Over feminine hearts a most perilous sway.
The women, in spite of an odious hump
Which he wore on his back, all thought him a trump;
And just when he'd played them the scurviest trick,
They'd swear in their hearts that this crooked old stick, --
This treacherous, dangerous, dissolute Dick,
For honor and virtue beat Cato all hollow;
And in figure and face was another Apollo!

He murdered their brothers,
And fathers and mothers;
And, worse than all that, he slaughtered by dozens
His own royal uncles and nephews and cousins;
And then, in the cunningest sort of orations,
In smooth conversations,
And flattering ovations,
Made love to the principal female relations!
'T was very improper, my boy, you must know,
For the son of a King to behave himself so;
And you'll scarcely believe what the chronicles show
Of his wonderful wooings,
And infamous doings;
But here's an exploit that he certainly did do, --
Killed his own cousin Ned,
As he slept in his bed,
And married, next day, the disconsolate widow!

I don't understand how such ogres arise,
But beginning, perhaps, with things little in size,
Such as torturing beetles and blue-bottle-flies,
Or scattering snuff in a poodle-dog's eyes, --
King Richard had grown so wantonly cruel,
He minded a murder no more than a duel;
He'd indulge, on the slightest pretense or occasion,
In his favorite amusement of decapitation,
Until "Off with his head!"
It is credibly said,
From his Majesty's mouth came as easy and pat
As from an old constable, "Off with his hat!"
One really shivers,
And fairly quivers,
To think of the treatment of Grey and Rivers
And Hastings and Vaughn and other good livers,
All suddenly sent, at the tap of a drum,
From the Kingdom of England to Kingdom-Come!
Of Buckingham doomed to a tragical end
For being the tyrant's particular friend;
Of Clarence who died, it is mournful to think,
Of wine that he was n't permitted to drink;
And the beautiful babies of royal blood,
Two little White Roses both nipt in the bud;
And silly Queen Anne, -- what sorrow it cost her
(And served her right!) for daring to foster
The impudent suit of this Richard of Gloster,
Who, instead of conferring a royal gratuity,
A dower, or even a decent Anne-uity,
Just gave her a portion of -- something or other
That made her as quiet as Pharaoh's mother!
Ah Richard! you're going it quite too fast;
Your doom is slow, but it's coming at last;
Your bloody crown
Will topple down,
And you'll be done uncommonly brown!
Your foes are thick,
My daring Dick,
And Richmond, a prince, and a regular brick,
Is after you now with a very sharp stick!

On Bosworth field the armies to-night
Are pitching their tents in each other's sight;
And to-morrow! to-morrow! they're going to fight!
And now King Richard has gone to bed;
But e'en in his sleep
He cannot keep
The past or the future out of his head.
In his deep remorse
Each mangled corse
Of all he had slain, -- or, what was worse,
Their ghosts, -- came up in terrible force,
And greeted his ear with unpleasant discourse,
Until, with a scream,
He woke from his dream,
And shouted aloud for "another horse!"

Perhaps you may think, my little dear,
King Richard's request was rather queer;
But I'll presently make it exceedingly clear: --
THE ROYAL SLEEPER WAS OVERFED!
I mean to say that, against his habit,
He'd eaten Welsh-rabbit
With very bad whiskey on going to bed.
I've had the Night-Mare with horrible force,
And much prefer a different horse!

But see! the murky night is gone!
The Morn is up, and the Fight is on!
The Knights are engaging, the warfare is waging,
On the right, on the left, the battle is raging;
King Richard is down!
Will he save his crown?
There's a crack in it now! -- he's beginning to bleed!
Aha! King Richard has lost his steed!
(At a moment like this 't is a terrible need!)
He shouts aloud with thundering force,
And offers a very high price for a horse,
But it's all in vain, -- the battle is done, --
The day is lost! -- and the day is won! --
And Richmond is King! and Richard's a corse!

MORAL.

Remember, my boy, that moral enormities
Are apt to attend corporeal deformities.
Whatever you have, or whatever you lack,
Beware of getting a crook in your back;
And, while you're about it, I'd very much rather
You'd grow tall and superb, i. e. copy your father!

Don't learn to be cruel, pray let me advise,
By torturing beetles and blue-bottle flies,
Or scattering snuff in a poodle-dog's eyes.
If you ever should marry, remember to wed
A handsome, plump, modest, sweetspoken, well-bred,
And sensible maiden of twenty, -- instead
Of a widow whose husband is recently dead!
If you'd shun in your naps those horrible Incubi,
Beware what you eat, and be careful what drink you buy;
Or else you may see, in your sleep's perturbations,
Some old and uncommonly ugly relations,
Who'll be very apt to disturb your nutations
By unpleasant allusions and rude observations!





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