"Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track 125 My seventy years of memory back: I think 'twas in my twentieth spring-- Ay, 'twas,--when Casimir was king-- John Casimir,--I was his page Six summers, in my earlier age. 130 A learned monarch, faith! was he, And most unlike your majesty: He made no wars, and did not gain New realms to lose them back again; And (save debates in Warsaw's diet) 135 He reign'd in most unseemly quiet; Not that he had no cares to vex, He loved the muses and the sex; And sometimes these so froward are, They made him wish himself at war; 140 But soon his wrath being o'er, he took Another mistress, or new book. And then he gave prodigious fêtes-- All Warsaw gather'd round his gates To gaze upon his splendid court, 145 And dames, and chiefs, of princely port: He was the Polish Solomon, So sung his poets, all but one, Who, being unpension'd, made a satire, And boasted that he could not flatter. 150 It was a court of jousts and mimes,[133] Where every courtier tried at rhymes; Even I for once produced some verses, And sign'd my odes 'Despairing Thyrsis.[134]' There was a certain Palatine,[135] 155 A count of far and high descent, Rich as a salt or silver mine; And he was proud, ye may divine, As if from heaven he had been sent. He had such wealth in blood and ore 160 As few could match beneath the throne; And he would gaze upon his store, And o'er his pedigree would pore, Until by some confusion led, Which almost look'd like want of head, 165 He thought their merits were his own. His wife was not of his opinion-- His junior she by thirty years-- Grew daily tired of his dominion; And, after wishes, hopes, and fears, 170 To virtue a few farewell tears, A restless dream or two, some glances At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, Awaited but the usual chances, (Those happy accidents which render 175 The coldest dames so very tender,) To deck her Count with titles given, 'Tis said, as passports into heaven; But, strange to say, they rarely boast Of these, who have deserved them most. 180 V