With Stevenson we must agree, Who found the world so full of things, That all should be, or so said he, As happy as a host of Kings;
Yet few so fortunate as not To envy Bluff King Henry's lot. A polished monarch, through and through, Tho’ somewhat lacking in religion,
Who joined a courtly manner to The figure of a pouter pigeon; And was, at time of feast or revel A... well... a perfect little devil!
But tho’ his vices, I'm afraid, Are hard for modern minds to swallow, Two lofty virtues he displayed, Which we should do our best to follow:—
A passion for domestic life, A cult for what is called The Wife. He sought his spouses, North and South. Six times ( to make a misquotation )
He managed, at the Canon's mouth, To win a bubble reputation; And ev'ry time, from last to first, His matrimonial bubble burst!
Six times, with wide, self-conscious smile And well-blacked, button boots, he entered The Abbey's bust-congested aisle, With ev'ry eye upon him centred;
Six times he heard, and not alone, The march of Mr. Mendelssohn. Six sep'rate times ( or three times twice ), In order to complete the marriage,
‘ Mid painful show'rs of boots and rice, He sought the shelter of his carriage; Six times the bride, beneath her veil, Looked “beautiful, but somewhat pale.”
Within the limits of one reign, Six females of undaunted bearing, Two Annes, three Kath'rines, and a Jane, Enjoyed the privilege of sharing
A conjugal career so chequer'd It almost constitutes a record! Yet sometimes it occurs to me That Henry missed his true vocation;
A husband by profession he, A widower by occupation; And, honestly, it seems a pity He did n't live in Salt Lake City.
For there he could have put in force His plural marriage views, unbaffled; Nor had recourse to dull divorce, Nor sought the service of the scaffold;
Nor looked for peace, nor found release, In any partner's predecease. Had Henry been alive to-day, He might have hired a timely motor,
And sent each wife in turn to stay Within the confines of Dakota; That State whose rigid marriage-law, Is eulogised by Bernard Shaw.
But Henry's simple days are done, And, in the present generation, A wife is seldom woo'd and won By prospects of decapitation.
For nowadays when Woman weds, It is the Men who lose their heads!
Cookies on Poetry Cove