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And reversions of gold in futuro. In wealth the family revell’d and rollid, Himself and wife and sons so bold;And his daughters sang to their harps of gold
“ O bella eta del oro !”
Such was the tale of the Kilmansegg Kin,
And declare the whole story a parable-
Of acres, pasture and arable. That as money makes money, his golden bees Were the five per cents, or which you please,
When his cash was more than plentyThat the golden cups were racing affairs ; And his daughters, who sang Italian airs,
Had their golden harps of Clementi.
That the Golden Ass, or Golden Bull,
Then at war by land and water :
At the Lord knows what per quarter!
What different dooms our birthdays bring !
Survives to wear many a wrinkle;
Expires without even a twinkle!
Into this world we come like ships,
For fortune fair or fatal;
While another rides safe at Port Natal.
What different lots our stars accord !
And that to be shunned like a leper !
To its vinegar, only, and pepper.
One is litter'd under a roof
of Love in a Cottage -
The bid of “ a mess of pottage.”
Born of Fortunatus's kin,
To a prospect all bright and burnish’d:
To a lodging ready furnish'd.
And the other sex-the tender—the fair-
In a garden of Gul reposes
She hates the smell of roses !
Not so with the infant Kilmansegg!
Or gather cresses in ditches ;
Or sit all day to hem and sew,
To fill their insides with stitches;
She was not doom’d, for bread to eat,
To carry home linen from mangles—
With as many blows as spangles.
She was one of those who by Fortune's boon
And Midas rock'd the cradle.
At her first début she found her head
With a damask canopy over.
Some children are born in clover.
very first draught of vital air It was not the common chamelion fare Of plebeian lungs and noses, --
No--her earliest sniff
Of this world was a whiff Of the genuine Otto of Roses !
When she saw the light it was no mere ray Of that light so commonk-so everyday
That the sun each morning launchesBut six wax tapers dazzled her eyes, From a thing--a gooseberry bush for size
With a golden stem and branches.
She was born exactly at half past two,
That stood on a marble table
As fast as they were able,
According to Grecian fable.
Like other babes, at her birth she cried ;
Ay, for twenty miles around her;
It shook the next heir
In his library chair,
Of signs and omens there was no dearth,
Two bullocks dropp'd dead,
And the village-bells such a peal rang out, That they crack’ the village-steeple.
In no time at all, like mushroom spawn,
But on scale as vast
Of drink and botargoes,
Hundreds of men were turn’d into beasts,
By the magic of ale and cider;
A bite from the Naples Spider.
Then as night came on,
It had scared King John,
To have seen the maroons,
And wheels of the same,
Oh, happy Hope of the Kilmanseggs !
That her parents had such full pockets !
With rickets instead of rockets !
And how was the precious Baby drest ?
Her best bibs were made
Of rich gold brocade,
And when the Baby inclined to nap
Of notions so exalted,
And on principle never malted.