When George III "put on the King," Beckford said, "he was the personification of dignity," and "no man could stand before him";[200] while the impression he made on Johnson is well known. "Sir, they may talk of the King as they will, but he is the finest gentleman I have ever seen," the doctor said to Barnard, the librarian; and supplemented this to Langton: "Sir, his manners are those of as fine a gentleman as we may suppose Louis the Fourteenth or Charles the Second."[201] This regal dignity was, however, not always sustained in private. "The oscillations of his body, the precipitations of his questions, none of which, it was said, would wait for an answer, and the hurry of his articulation"[202] were so many faults; and the famous "What? what?" with which he concluded his sentences were irritating to a degree. "His Majesty is multifarious in his questions," said Johnson, "but thank God he answers them all himself." The King was no fool, however, and, as Wraxall was at pains to point out, "his understanding, solid and sedate, qualified him admirably for business," though it was neither of a brilliant nor imposing description; but he had in him a great vein of folly. [200] _Conversations with Mr. Beckford._ [201] Boswell: _Life of Samuel Johnson_. [202] Wraxall: _Historical Memoirs of My Own Times_. Now, the dignity of a foolish man usually furnishes fit subject for mirth, and the King's reputation for stupidity, which originated in his early years, grew confirmed as time went on. No story, however seemingly absurd, was rejected as untrue by his loyal subjects, who, perhaps, found their greatest pleasure in this direction, in the well-known anecdote of the King and the apple dumpling. "Once upon a time, a monarch, tired with whooping, Whipping and spurring, Happy in worrying A poor defenceless, harmless buck (The horse and rider wet as muck), From his high consequence and wisdom stooping, Enter'd, through curiosity, a cot. Where sat a poor old woman and her pot. "The wrinkled, blear-ey'd, good, old granny, In this same cot, illum'd by many a cranny, Had finish'd apple dumplings for her pot: In tempting row the naked dumplings lay, When, lo! the monarch, in his usual way, Like lightning spoke, 'What's this? what's this? what? what?' "Then taking up a dumpling in his hand, His eyes with admiration did expand-- And oft did Majesty the dumpling grapple: ''Tis monstrous, monstrous hard, indeed,' he cried: 'What makes it, pray, so hard?'--The dame reply'd, Low curtseying, 'Please, your Majesty, the apple.'