[A thing my dear Lord, that I ne'er should have thought on] A thing my dear Lord, that I ne'er should have thought on Was to hear at Marseilles that you was at Houghton With roast beef and plumb-pudding are treating the Russ While the Austrian Ambassador adds to the fuss, But your looks tell them both you think of your Son Whom here to the Garcons, I say is my own And his wife is so pretty, so sweet a musician, that wants only cramming and not a Physician Turtle Soup — Asses Milk — good porridge all that And much more would I give her to make her quite fat But — I wish you of Blessed years at least have a million, to enjoy all the honours of Brighton's Pavillion Where an order I hear is created for Dames of high Beauty and wit and Poetical Fames I suppose the next order your bosom may cover Will be the most Royal Titche Cross of Hanover mine got: ser shone is the Thought for 'tis clear A Tedescan order must honour a Peer An Old Peer of England by inheritance too; But unless he is fond of a Bauble that's new — He'll find himself one worth twenty times two of gravens new made, tho like me, saucy Elf, you might claim a Durchlachen from Witikind's self: but before to the land of Sour Crout you are Roving to my own native shore I shall be moving and I hope I shall find you by my wise injunctions having fill'd up Canals and all their vile junctions — for till that is perform'd, as you know I'm no frog Live I cannot where reigns a perpetual fog, and my Rose-color'd mind like Flora's true Rose must droop and be kill'd where the sun never glows; vice-versa, so here as it shines every day my muse she will laugh, dance, sing or play And I thought she might just as well dictate a Letter To make you like mamselle L'asne somewhat better than you did when I shew'd you her name in a box which set you a screaming like Berkeley's game cocks — and so furious you look'd that she ran away but now has most humbly desired me to say; she only ran away to come and fight another day. if my verse is irregular, you may thank yourself for with me you are an irregular Elf — there are times when all that I do is most charming; at others, the very best jest is alarming. arrangez vous s'il vous plait you never can blame the froth of a cream when the fond is the same for howe'er I may trifle with those I don't know I am always with those that I love, statu quo, and you to this Latin, add, Probatum est for my constant esteem for you is no jest, And tho' you forget me for Ages when near you no time or events from my friendship can tear you.