Here the noble Grandee Made that sort of congée, Which, as Hill used to say, "I once _happen'd to see_" The great Indian conjuror, Ramo Samee, Make, while swallowing what all thought a regular choker, _Viz._ a small sword as long and as stiff as a poker. Then the Count de Pacheco, Whose turn twas to speak, omitting all preface, exclaim'd with devotion, "Sire, I beg leave to second Don Lewis's motion!" Now a Monarch of Spain Of course could not deign To expostulate, argue, or, much less, complain Of an answer thus giv'n, or to ask them again; So he merely observed, with an air of disdain, "Well, Gentlemen,--since you both shrink from the task Of advising your Sovereign--pray, whom shall I ask?" Each felt the rub, And in Spain not a Sub, Much less an Hidalgo, can stomach a snub, So the noses of these Castilian Grandees Rise at once in an angle of several degrees, Till the under-lip's almost becoming the upper, Each perceptibly grows, too, more stiff in the crupper, Their right hands rest On the left side the breast, While the hilts of their swords, by their left hands deprest, Make the ends of their scabbards to cock up behind, Till they're quite horizontal instead of inclined, And Don Lewis, with scarce an attempt to disguise The disgust he experiences, gravely replies, "Sire, ask the Archbishop--his Grace of Toledo!-- He understands these things much better than we do!" --_Pauca Verba!_--enough, Each turns off in a huff, This twirling his mustache, that fingering his ruff, Like a blue-bottle fly on a rather large scale, With a rather large corking-pin stuck through his tail. * * * * *