For hunger and thirst King Karl the First
Had stoical, stern disdain:
The food that he ordered consistently bordered
On what was described as plain.
Much trouble his cook ambitiously took
To tickle his frugal taste,
But all of his savoury science and slavery
Ended in naught but waste.
Said the steward: “The thing to tempt the King
And charm his indifferent eye
No doubt is a tasty, delectable pasty.
Make him a blackbird pie!”
The cook at these words baked twenty-four birds,
And set them before the King,
And the two dozen odious, bold, and melodious
Singers began to sing.
The King in surprise said: “Dozens of pies
In the course of our life we’ve tried,
But never before us was served up a chorus
Like this that we hear inside!”
With a thunderous look he ordered the cook
And the steward before him brought,
And with a beatified smile: “He is satisfied!”
Both of these innocents thought.
“Of sinners the worst,” said Karl the First,
“Is the barbarous ruffian that
A song-bird would slaughter, unless for his daughter
Or wife he is trimming a hat.
We’ll punish you so for the future you’ll know
That from mercy you can’t depart.
Observe that your lenient, kind, intervenient
King has a tender heart!”
He saw that the cook in a neighboring brook
Was drowned (as he quite deserved),
And ordered the steward at once to be skewered.
(The steward was much unnerved.)
“It’s a curious thing,” said the merciful King,
“That monarchs so tender are,
So oft we’re affected that we have suspected that
We are too kind by far.”
The moral: The mercy of men and Kings
Are apt to be wholly dissimilar things.
In spite of “The Merchant of Venice,” we’re pained
To note that the quality’s sometimes strained.