The Quidnuncki's: a Tale Occasioned by the Death of the Duke Regent of France

How vain are mortal man's endeavours!
(Said at dame Elliots Master Travers)
Good Orleans dead! in truth 'tis hard:
Oh may all statesmen die prepared!
I do foresee (and for fore-seeing
He equals any man in being)
The army ne'er can be disbanded.
I wish the King were safely landed.
Ah friends! great changes threat the land;
All France and England at a stand!
There's Meroweis — mark! strange work!
And there's the Czar, and there's the Turk
The Pope An Indian merchant by,
Cut short the speech with this reply.
All at a stand? You see great changes?
Ah, Sir! you never saw the Ganges.
There dwells the nation of Quidnuncki's
(So Monomotapa calls monkies:)
On either bank, from bough to bough,
They meet and chat (as we may now.)
Whispers go round, they grin, they shrug,
They bow, they snarl, they scratch, they hug;
And just as chance, or whim provoke them,
They either bite their friends, or stroke them.
There have I seen some active prig,
To show his parts, bestride a twig:
Lord! how the chatt'ring tribe admire
Not that he's wiser but he's higher:
All long to try the vent'rous thing.
(For power is but to have one's swing.)
From side to side he springs, he spurns,
And bangs his foes and friends by turns.
Thus as in giddy freaks he bounces.
Crack goes the twig and in he flounces!
Down the swift stream the wretch is borne;
Never, ah never to return!
Z — ds! what a fall had our dear brother;
Morbleu! cries one, and damme t'other.
The nations give a gen'ral screech,
None cocks his tail, none claws his breech;
Each trembles for the public weal,
And for a while forgets to steal.
Awhile all eyes, intent and steady,
Pursue him, whirling down the eddy.
But out of mind when out of view,
Some other mounts the twig anew;
And business, on each monkey shore,
Runs the same track it ran before.