There was a king in Brentford,-of whom no legends tell,
But who, without his glory,-could eat and sleep right well.
His Polly's cotton nightcap,-it was his crown of state,
He slept of evenings early,-and rose of mornings late.
All in a fine mud palace,-each day he took four meals,
And for a guard of honor,-a dog ran at his heels,
Sometimes, to view his kingdoms,-rode forth this monarch good,
And then a prancing jackass-he royally bestrode.
There were no costly habits-with which this king was curst,
Except (and where's the harm on't?)-a somewhat lively thirst;
But people must pay taxes,-and kings must have their sport,
So out of every gallon-His Grace he took a quart.
He pleased the ladies round him,-with manners soft and bland;
With reason good, they named him,-the father of his land.
Each year his mighty armies-marched forth in gallant show;
Their enemies were targets-their bullets they were tow.
He vexed no quiet neighbor,-no useless conquest made,
But by the laws of pleasure,-his peaceful realm he swayed.
And in the years he reigned,-through all this country wide,
There was no cause for weeping,-save when the good man died.
The faithful men of Brentford,-do still their king deplore,
His portrait yet is swinging,- beside an alehouse door.
And topers, tender-hearted,-regard his honest phiz,
And envy times departed-that knew a reign like his.
The King Of Brentford
William Makepeace Thackeray
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Poem topics: dog, father, people, rose, sleep, sometimes, pleasure, tender, crown, wide, country, door, early, year, reason, view, honor, soft, quiet, save, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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