Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TWA BULLS, by WILLIAM D. LATTO


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TWA BULLS, by                    
First Line: The parlance ended, monk confounded
Last Line: An honour to their fatherland.
Subject(s): Louis Xiv, King Of France (1638-1715); Monks; Pope, Alexander (1688-1744); Religion; Theology


THE parlance ended, Monk confounded
Stood speechless, motionless astounded,
Cast down his een, an' hung his lugs,
An' screw'd his chafts as pert as pug's.
Meanwhile, John kept baith watch an' ward,
Resolv'd the pawkie boy to guard;
O' every movement to be heedfu',
An' to repel by force if needfu'.
Amid Monk's luggage, John espied
A something Monk was fain to hide --
A ponderous box, wi' bolt an' bar
Secured, as dusky dungeons are.
"Pandora's box!" cried John, "ods rot 'em!
Hopeless most likely at the bottom!"
Wi' that he leapt among the trunks,
An' dang the luckless box to spunks;
When, lo! there lay exposed to view
To Monk's designs the fatal clew,
That a' his sage manoeuvres foil'd,
An' a' his future hopes beguil'd.
Broad hats an' hosen painted red
Were snugly pack'd beneath the lid;
An' then a dozen past'ral crooks
Lay cleekit in ilk ither's hooks;
But last of a', an' warst of a',
The treacherous things that Johnnie saw,
Cam' boots, an' gyves, and brimstane matches,
To frichten contumacious wratches;
An' deeds of excommunication
T' expurgate frae the British nation,
As by the crossing-sweeper's besom,
The dross o' Johnnie's Sectarism!
This black discovery crown'd the whole;
John bit his lips, but couldna thole:
He growled awee, an' paw'd the ground,
Then set his horns an' made a bound,
Raised Monk aloft, and pitch'd him over
To fields beyond the Straits o' Dover.
"Noo, bide thee there," cried John, "an' study
Henceforth designs less black an' bloody!
Paint winkin' Virgins by the hunder,
To mak' the vulgar cattle wonder;
But don't expect to find, auld cronie,
A second Bonaparte in Johnnie.
Thou might'st have still been playin' the flunkey --
As now thou strut'st a meddling monkey --
Had there been nane but John's dragoons
To fecht for foreign despot's croons,"
This said, John slowly turn'd him roon'
An' snoov'd awa' an' humm'd a tune;
Survey'd his fields frae sea to sea,
An' bless'd his stars they still were free.
So, fear'd abroad, revered at home,
John quietly snapt his thooms at Rome;
Enjoy'd his future years in peace,
An' saw his wealth an' power increase;
An' rear'd his sons, a gallant band,
An honour to their fatherland.





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