Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Retort
The Retort.
A supercilious nabob of the East,
Haughty and grave, and purse-proud, being rich,
A Governor, or General, at least,
I have forgotten which,
Had in his family a humble youth,
Who went to India in his patron's suit,
Au unassuming body, and, in truth
A lad of decent parts and good repute.
Haughty and grave, and purse-proud, being rich,
A Governor, or General, at least,
I have forgotten which,
Had in his family a humble youth,
Who went to India in his patron's suit,
Au unassuming body, and, in truth
A lad of decent parts and good repute.
This youth had sense and spirit,
Yet with all his sense,
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit.
Yet with all his sense,
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit.
One day at table, flushed with pride and wine,
His Honour—proudly free, severely merry—
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a joke upon his secretary.
His Honour—proudly free, severely merry—
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a joke upon his secretary.
"Young man," said he, "by what art, craft, or trade,
Did your good father earn his livelihood!"
"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,
"And in his line was reckoned good."
"A saddler, eh, and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray why, sir, didn't your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?"
Each parasite as in duty bound
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
Did your good father earn his livelihood!"
"He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said,
"And in his line was reckoned good."
"A saddler, eh, and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray why, sir, didn't your father make
A saddler, sir, of you?"
Each parasite as in duty bound
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
At length, Modestus bowing low,
Said, craving pardon if too free he made,
"Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
Your father's trade."
"My father's trade? why that's too bad,
My father's trade? why, blockhead, art thou mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low;
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know!"
"Excuse the liberty," Modestus said, "I take,"
With archness on his brow,
"Pray, sir, why did not then your father make
A gentleman of you."
Said, craving pardon if too free he made,
"Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
Your father's trade."
"My father's trade? why that's too bad,
My father's trade? why, blockhead, art thou mad?
My father, sir, did never stoop so low;
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know!"
"Excuse the liberty," Modestus said, "I take,"
With archness on his brow,
"Pray, sir, why did not then your father make
A gentleman of you."