The royal sun with his orbed flame

The royal sun with his orbed flame
To be myself I modestly claim ;
And yet, though strange, it is perfectly true,
I am at this moment within your shoe.
Have you a delicate hand to show ?
Its symmetry partly to me you owe ;
And I cannot think how you can possibly see
If deprived in another part of me.
The ancient dame, with her spectacled nose,
By my strange contortions I often pose,
As I glide away from her busy hand
To rejoice the juvenile feline band.
I am a being of direful power,
And many I haste to their last dread hour ;
Yet the tiny child on his feeble feet
Is gladdened and charmed by my motions fleet.

I am said to whistle, though not to sigh ;
Merriment often to hundreds I bring.
On due inquiry I think you will find
That twenty people in me have dined ;
Yet when at dinner you take your seat
I 'm sometimes the very first thing you eat.
Who patronise me ? The college youth,
Loving me better than books in truth ;
The friends of science, the friends of strife,
The duellist seeking his fellow's life,
Of sharpers and blacklegs not a few,
Equine doctors frequently too,
The conjuror showing his skilful tricks,
In the list the graceful and fair we mix ;
And last, not least, our gracious Queen
My patroness certainly ever hath been.