We thought at first, this man is a king for sure, Or the branch of a mighty and ancient and famous lineage -- That silly, sulky, illiterate, black-avised boor Who was hatched by foreign vulgarity under a hedge! The good men of Clare were drinking his health in a flood, And gazing, with me, in awe at the princely lad; And asking each other from what bluest blueness of blood His daddy was squeezed, and the pa of the da of his dad? We waited there, gaping and wondering, anxiously, Until he'd stop eating, and let the glad tidings out; And the slack-jawed booby proved to the hilt that he Was lout, son of lout, by old lout, and was da to a lout! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 30 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SETTLER: AMERICA IN THE MAKING by ALFRED BILLINGS STREET INSCRIPTIONS: 3 by MARK AKENSIDE MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE DUST by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH NOVEMBER by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE LORDS' MASQUE: CHORUS (2) by THOMAS CAMPION |