François Xavier Auguste acted much like the rest of them, Dress'd, drank, and fought, and _chassée'd_ with the best of them; Took his _œil de perdrix_ Till he scarcely could see, He would then sally out in the streets for a "spree;" His rapier he'd draw, Pink a _Bourgeois_, (A word which the English translate "Johnny Raw,") For your thorough French Courtier, whenever the fit he's in, Thinks it prime fun to astonish a citizen; And, perhaps it's no wonder that this kind of scrapes, In a nation which Voltaire, in one of his japes, Defines "an amalgam of Tigers and Apes," Should be merely considered as "Little Escapes." But I'm sorry to add, Things are almost as bad A great deal nearer home, and that similar pranks Amongst young men who move in the very first ranks, Are by no means confined to the land of the Franks. Be this as it will, In the general, still, Though blame him we must, It is really but just To our lively young friend, François Xavier Auguste, To say, that howe'er Well known his faults were, At his Bacchanal parties he always drank fair, And, when gambling his worst, always play'd on the square, So that, being much more of pigeon than rook, he Lost large sums at faro (a game like "Blind Hookey"), And continued to lose, And to give I O U's, Till he lost e'en the credit he had with the Jews; And, a parallel if I may venture to draw Between François Xavier Auguste de St. Foix, And his namesake, a still more distinguished François, Who wrote to his "_sœur_"[19] From Pavia, "_Mon Cœur_, I have lost all I had in the world _fors l'honneur_." So St. Foix might have wrote No dissimilar note, "_Vive la bagatelle!--toujours gai--idem semper_-- I've lost all I had in the world but--my temper!" From the very beginning, Indeed, of his sinning, His air was so cheerful, his manners so winning, That once he prevailed--or his friends coin the tale for him-- On the bailiff who "nabbed" him, himself to "go bail" for him. Well--we know in these cases Your "Crabs" and "Deuce Aces" Are wont to promote frequent changes of places; Town doctors, indeed, are most apt to declare That there's nothing so good as the pure "country air," Whenever exhaustion of person, or purse, in An invalid cramps him, and sets him a-cursing: A habit, I'm very much grieved at divulging, François Xavier Auguste was too prone to indulge in. But what could be done? It's clear as the sun, That, though nothing's more easy than say "Cut and run!" Yet a Guardsman can't live without some sort of fun-- E'en I or you, If we'd nothing to do, Should soon find ourselves looking remarkably blue. And, since no one denies What's so plain to all eyes, It won't, I am sure, create any surprise That reflections like these half reduced to despair François Xavier Auguste, the gay Black Mousquetaire.