KING Henry hath his amber wine, And Frank of Guise, as gossips tell, Eats every day a capon fine And sneers at hock and hydromel. But as for us we'd rather dwell A little from the world away, Although we love its cheer right well, Myself and Monsieur Rabelais. Of Panurge on the restless brine He hath a jolly tale to tell, Of how Gargantua did dine, Or of the great Pantagruel, And what adventure him befell, To make one laugh a summer's day. We get on marvelously well, Myself and Monsieur Rabelais. Though churchmen rant of wrath divine Or Saint of Sales our doom foretell, " 'Twill all come right," as we opine, Though Pope or Luther burn in Hell. The mystery of the flask to spell Brings better hope of judgment day, Which comforts both of us full well, Myself and Monsieur Rabelais. ENVOI Prince! in strict fact, although we dwell Three merry centuries away, We hob and nob surpassing well, Myself and Monsieur Rabelais. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK RIDERS: 56 by STEPHEN CRANE THE SUPPLIANT by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE IN A CATHEDRAL CITY by THOMAS HARDY A CHRISTMAS CAROL, SUNG TO THE KING IN THE PRESENCE AT WHITEHALL by ROBERT HERRICK BISHOP HATTO [AND THE RATS] by ROBERT SOUTHEY THE BAREFOOT BOY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |