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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538742" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The King Of Brentford’s Testament</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The noble King of Brentford<br>Was old and very sick,<br>He summon'd his physicians<br>To wait upon him quick;<br>They stepp'd into their coaches<br>And brought their best physick.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They cramm'd their gracious master<br>With potion and with pill;<br>They drench'd him and they bled him;<br>They could not cure his ill.<br>'Go fetch,' says he, 'my lawyer,<br>I'd better make my will.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The monarch's royal mandate<br>The lawyer did obey;<br>The thought of six-and-eightpence<br>Did make his heart full gay.<br>'What is't,' says he, 'your Majesty<br>Would wish of me to-day?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The doctors have belabor'd me<br>With potion and with pill:<br>My hours of life are counted,<br>O man of tape and quill!<br>Sit down and mend a pen or two,<br>I want to make my will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O'er all the land of Brentford<br>I'm lord, and eke of Kew:<br>I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents;<br>My debts are but a few;<br>And to inherit after me<br>I have but children two.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Prince Thomas is my eldest son,<br>A sober Prince is he,<br>And from the day we breech'd him<br>Till now, he's twenty-three,<br>He never caused disquiet<br>To his poor Mamma or me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'At school they never flogg'd him,<br>At college, though not fast,<br>Yet his little-go and great-go<br>He creditably pass'd,<br>And made his year's allowance<br>For eighteen months to last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'He never owed a shilling.<br>Went never drunk to bed,<br>He has not two ideas<br>Within his honest head—<br>In all respects he differs<br>From my second son, Prince Ned.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'When Tom has half his income<br>Laid by at the year's end,<br>Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver<br>That rightly he may spend,<br>But sponges on a tradesman,<br>Or borrows from a friend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'While Tom his legal studies<br>Most soberly pursues,<br>Poor Ned most pass his mornings<br>A-dawdling with the Muse:<br>While Tom frequents his banker,<br>Young Ned frequents the Jews.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ned drives about in buggies,<br>Tom sometimes takes a 'bus;<br>Ah, cruel fate, why made you<br>My children differ thus?<br>Why make of Tom a DULLARD,<br>And Ned a GENIUS?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'You'll cut him with a shilling,'<br>Exclaimed the man of wits:<br>'I'll leave my wealth,' said Brentford,<br>'Sir Lawyer, as befits;<br>And portion both their fortunes<br>Unto their several wits.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Your Grace knows best,' the lawyer said<br>'On your commands I wait.'<br>'Be silent, Sir,' says Brentford,<br>'A plague upon your prate!<br>Come take your pen and paper,<br>And write as I dictate.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The will as Brentford spoke it<br>Was writ and signed and closed;<br>He bade the lawyer leave him,<br>And turn'd him round and dozed;<br>And next week in the churchyard<br>The good old King reposed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tom, dressed in crape and hatband,<br>Of mourners was the chief;<br>In bitter self-upbraidings<br>Poor Edward showed his grief:<br>Tom hid his fat white countenance<br>In his pocket-handkerchief.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ned's eyes were full of weeping,<br>He falter'd in his walk;<br>Tom never shed a tear,<br>But onwards he did stalk,<br>As pompous, black, and solemn,<br>As any catafalque.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when the bones of Brentford—<br>That gentle king and just—<br>With bell and book and candle<br>Were duly laid in dust,<br>'Now, gentleman,' says Thomas,<br>'Let business be discussed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'When late our sire beloved<br>Was taken deadly ill,<br>Sir Lawyer, you attended him<br>(I mean to tax your bill);<br>And, as you signed and wrote it,<br>I prithee read the will.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lawyer wiped his spectacles,<br>And drew the parchment out;<br>And all the Brentford family<br>Sat eager round about:<br>Poor Ned was somewhat anxious,<br>But Tom had ne'er a doubt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My son, as I make ready<br>To seek my last long home,<br>Some cares I had for Neddy,<br>But none for thee, my Tom:<br>Sobriety and order<br>You ne'er departed from.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ned hath a brilliant genius,<br>And thou a plodding brain;<br>On thee I think with pleasure,<br>On him with doubt and pain.'<br>('You see, good Ned,' says Thomas,<br>'What he thought about us twain.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Though small was your allowance,<br>You saved a little store;<br>And those who save a little<br>Shall get a plenty more.'<br>As the lawyer read this compliment,<br>Tom's eyes were running o'er.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The tortoise and the hare, Tom,<br>Set out, at each his pace;<br>The hare it was the fleeter,<br>The tortoise won the race;<br>And since the world's beginning<br>This ever was the case.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ned's genius, blithe and singing,<br>Steps gayly o'er the ground;<br>As steadily you trudge it<br>He clears it with a bound;<br>But dulness has stout legs, Tom,<br>And wind that's wondrous sound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O'er fruits and flowers alike, Tom,<br>You pass with plodding feet;<br>You heed not one nor t'other<br>But onwards go your beat,<br>While genius stops to loiter<br>With all that he may meet;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And ever as he wanders,<br>Will have a pretext fine<br>For sleeping in the morning,<br>Or loitering to dine,<br>Or dozing in the shade,<br>Or basking in the shine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Your little steady eyes, Tom,<br>Though not so bright as those<br>That restless round about him<br>His flashing genius throws,<br>Are excellently suited<br>To look before your nose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thank heaven, then, for the blinkers<br>It placed before your eyes;<br>The stupidest are weakest,<br>The witty are not wise;<br>Oh, bless your good stupidity,<br>It is your dearest prize!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And though my lands are wide,<br>And plenty is my gold,<br>Still better gifts from Nature,<br>My Thomas, do you hold—<br>A brain that's thick and heavy,<br>A heart that's dull and cold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Too dull to feel depression,<br>Too hard to heed distress,<br>Too cold to yield to passion<br>Or silly tenderness.<br>March on—your road is open<br>To wealth, Tom, and success.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Ned sinneth in extravagance,<br>And you in greedy lust.'<br>('I' faith,' says Ned, 'our father<br>Is less polite than just.')<br>'In you, son Tom, I've confidence,<br>But Ned I cannot trust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Wherefore my lease and copyholds,<br>My lands and tenements,<br>My parks, my farms, and orchards,<br>My houses and my rents,<br>My Dutch stock and my Spanish stock,<br>My five and three per cents,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I leave to you, my Thomas'—<br>('What, all?' poor Edward said.<br>'Well, well, I should have spent them,<br>And Tom's a prudent head')—<br>'I leave to you, my Thomas,—<br>To you in TRUST for Ned.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wrath and consternation<br>What poet e'er could trace<br>That at this fatal passage<br>Came o'er Prince Tom his face;<br>The wonder of the company,<br>And honest Ned's amaze!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Tis surely some mistake,'<br>Good-naturedly cries Ned;<br>The lawyer answered gravely,<br>''Tis even as I said;<br>'Twas thus his gracious Majesty<br>Ordain'd on his death-bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'See, here the will is witness'd,<br>And here's his autograph.'<br>'In truth, our father's writing,'<br>Says Edward, with a laugh;<br>'But thou shalt not be a loser, Tom,<br>We'll share it half and half.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Alas! my kind young gentleman,<br>This sharing cannot be;<br>'Tis written in the testament<br>That Brentford spoke to me,<br>'I do forbid Prince Ned to give<br>Prince Tom a halfpenny.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''He hath a store of money,<br>But ne'er was known to lend it;<br>He never help'd his brother;<br>The poor he ne'er befriended;<br>He hath no need of property<br>Who knows not how to spend it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Poor Edward knows but how to spend,<br>And thrifty Tom to hoard;<br>Let Thomas be the steward then,<br>And Edward be the lord;<br>And as the honest laborer<br>Is worthy his reward,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''I pray Prince Ned, my second son,<br>And my successor dear,<br>To pay to his intendant<br>Five hundred pounds a year;<br>And to think of his old father,<br>And live and make good cheer.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such was old Brentford's honest testament,<br>He did devise his moneys for the best,<br>And lies in Brentford church in peaceful rest.<br>Prince Edward lived, and money made and spent;<br>But his good sire was wrong, it is confess'd<br>To say his son, young Thomas, never lent.<br>He did. Young Thomas lent at interest,<br>And nobly took his twenty-five per cent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long time the famous reign of Ned endured<br>O'er Chiswick, Fulham, Brentford, Putney, Kew,<br>But of extravagance he ne'er was cured.<br>And when both died, as mortal men will do,<br>'Twas commonly reported that the steward<br>Was very much the richer of the two.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Makepeace+Thackeray">William Makepeace Thackeray</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538742" data-title="The King Of Brentford’s Testament de William Makepeace Thackeray" data-description="The noble King of Brentford
Was old and very sick,
He summon'd his physicians
To wait upon him quick;
They stepp'd into their coaches
And brought their best physick.

They cramm'd their gracious master
With potion and with pill;
They drench'd him ..."></div>
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