Ambassadors cropped up like hay, Prime Ministers and such as they Grew like asparagus in May, And Dukes were three a penny: Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats, And Bishops in their shovel hats Were plentiful as tabby cats-- If possible, too many. On every side Field-Marshals gleamed, Small beer were Lords-Lieutenant deemed, With Admirals the ocean teemed, All round his wide dominions; And Party Leaders you might meet In twos and threes in every street Maintaining, with no little heat, Their various opinions. That King, although no one denies, His heart was of abnormal size, Yet he'd have acted otherwise If he had been acuter. The end is easily foretold, When every blessed thing you hold Is made of silver, or of gold, You long for simple pewter. When you have nothing else to wear But cloth of gold and satins rare, For cloth of gold you cease to care-- Up goes the price of shoddy: In short, whoever you may be, To this conclusion you'll agree, When every one is somebody, Then no one's anybody! [Illustration] THE MYSTIC SELVAGEE Perhaps already you may know SIR BLENNERHASSET PORTICO? A Captain in the Navy, he-- A Baronet and K.C.B. You do? I thought so! It was that captain's favourite whim (A notion not confined to him) That RODNEY was the greatest tar Who ever wielded capstan-bar. He had been taught so. "BENBOW? CORNWALLIS? HOOD?--Belay! Compared with RODNEY"--he would say-- "No other tar is worth a rap; The great LORD RODNEY was the chap The French to polish! "Though, mind you, I respect LORD HOOD; CORNWALLIS, too, was rather good; BENBOW could enemies repel; LORD NELSON, too, was pretty well-- That is, tol-lol-ish!" SIR BLENNERHASSET spent his days In learning RODNEY'S little ways, And closely imitated, too, His mode of talking to his crew-- His port and paces. An ancient tar he tried to catch Who'd served in RODNEY'S famous batch; But since his time long years have fled, And RODNEY'S tars are mostly dead: _Eheu fugaces!_ But after searching near and far, At last he found an ancient tar Who served with RODNEY and his crew Against the French in 'eighty-two (That gained the peerage) He gave him fifty pounds a year, His rum, his baccy, and his beer; And had a comfortable den Rigged up in what, by merchantmen, Is called the steerage. "Now, JASPER"--'twas that sailor's name-- "Don't fear that you'll incur my blame By saying, when it seems to you, That there is anything I do That RODNEY wouldn't."