Go on, mighty man--doom them all to the shelf-- And, when next thou with prophecy tronblest thy sconce, Oh, forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself Art the Beast (chapter 4) that sees nine ways at once! THE LITTLE GRAND LAMA. A FABLE FOR PRINCES ROYAL THOMAS MOORE In Thibet once there reign'd, we're told, A little Lama, one year old-- Raised to the throne, that realm to bless, Just when his little Holiness Had cut--as near as can be reckoned-- Some say his FIRST tooth, some his SECOND, Chronologers and verses vary, Which proves historians should be wary We only know the important truth-- His Majesty HAD cut a tooth. And much his subjects were enchanted, As well all Lamas' subjects may be, And would have given their heads, if wanted, To make tee-totums for the baby As he was there by Eight Divine (What lawyers call Jure Divino Meaning a right to yours and mine, And everybody's goods and rhino)-- Of course his faithful subjects' purses Were ready with their aids and succors-- Nothing was seen but pension'd nurses, And the land groan'd with bibs and tuckers. Oh! had there been a Hume or Bennet Then sitting in the Thibet Senate, Ye gods, what room for long debates Upon the Nursery Estimates! What cutting down of swaddling-clothes And pin-a-fores, in nightly battles! What calls for papers to expose The waste of sugar-plums and rattles? But no--if Thibet NAD M.P.s, They were far better bred than these, Nor gave the slightest opposition, During the Monarch's whole dentition. But short this calm; for, just when he Had reach'd the alarming age of three, When royal natures--and, no doubt Those of ALL noble beasts--break out, The Lama, who till then was quiet, Show'd symptoms of a taste for riot; And, ripe for mischief, early, late, Without regard for Church or State, Made free with whosoe'er came nigh-- Tweak'd the Lord Chancellor by the nose, Turn'd all the Judges' wigs awry, And trod on the old General's toes-- Pelted the Bishops with hot buns, Rode cock-horse on the city maces, And shot, from little devilish guns, Hard peas into his subjects' faces. In short, such wicked pranks he play'd, And grew so mischievous (God bless him!) That his chief Nurse--though with the aid Of an Archbishop--was afraid, When in these moods, to comb or dress him; And even the persons most inclined For Kings, through thick and thin, to stickle, Thought him (if they'd but speak their mind Which they did NOT) an odious pickle.