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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538770" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Titmarsh’s Carmen Lilliense</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">LILLE, Sept. 2, 1843.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart is weary, my peace is gone,<br>How shall I e'er my woes reveal?<br>I have no money, I lie in pawn,<br>A stranger in the town of Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With twenty pounds but three weeks since<br>From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel,<br>I thought myself as rich a prince<br>As beggar poor I'm now at Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Confiding in my ample means—<br>In troth, I was a happy chiel!<br>I passed the gates of Valenciennes,<br>I never thought to come by Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I never thought my twenty pounds<br>Some rascal knave would dare to steal;<br>I gayly passed the Belgic bounds<br>At Quievrain, twenty miles from Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Antwerp town I hasten'd post,<br>And as I took my evening meal<br>I felt my pouch,—my purse was lost,<br>O Heaven! Why came I not by Lille?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I straightway called for ink and pen,<br>To grandmamma I made appeal;<br>Meanwhile a loan of guineas ten<br>I borrowed from a friend so leal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I got the cash from grandmamma<br>(Her gentle heart my woes could feel,)<br>But where I went, and what I saw,<br>What matters? Here I am at Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart is weary, my peace is gone,<br>How shall I e'er my woes reveal?<br>I have no cash, I lie in pawn,<br>A stranger in the town of Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To stealing I can never come,<br>To pawn my watch I'm too genteel,<br>Besides, I left my watch at home,<br>How could I pawn it then at Lille?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'La note,' at times the guests will say.<br>I turn as white as cold boil'd veal;<br>I turn and look another way,<br>I dare not ask the bill at Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I dare not to the landlord say,<br>'Good sir, I cannot pay your bill;'<br>He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,<br>And is quite proud I stay at Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,<br>Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel,<br>And so he serves me every day<br>The best of meat and drink in Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet when he looks me in the face<br>I blush as red as cochineal;<br>And think did he but know my case,<br>How changed he'd be, my host of Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart is weary, my peace is gone,<br>How shall I e'er my woes reveal?<br>I have no money, I lie in pawn,<br>A stranger in the town of Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun bursts out in furious blaze,<br>I perspirate from head to heel;<br>I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise,<br>How can I, without cash at Lille?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I pass in sunshine burning hot<br>By cafes where in beer they deal;<br>I think how pleasant were a pot,<br>A frothing pot of beer of Lille!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What is yon house with walls so thick,<br>All girt around with guard and grille?<br>O gracious gods! it makes me sick,<br>It is the PRISON-HOUSE of Lille!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O cursed prison strong and barred,<br>It does my very blood congeal!<br>I tremble as I pass the guard,<br>And quit that ugly part of Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The church-door beggar whines and prays,<br>I turn away at his appeal<br>Ah, church-door beggar! go thy ways!<br>You're not the poorest man in Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart is weary, my peace is gone,<br>How shall I e'er any woes reveal?<br>I have no money, I lie in pawn,<br>A stranger in the town of Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Say, shall I to you Flemish church,<br>And at a Popish altar kneel?<br>Oh, do not leave me in the lurch,—<br>I'll cry, ye patron-saints of Lille!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops,<br>Ye martyrs slain for mortal weal,<br>Look kindly down! before you stoops<br>The miserablest man in Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And lo! as I beheld with awe<br>A pictured saint (I swear 'tis real),<br>It smiled, and turned to grandmamma!—<br>It did! and I had hope in Lille!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas five o'clock, and I could eat,<br>Although I could not pay my meal:<br>I hasten back into the street<br>Where lies my inn, the best Lille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What see I on my table stand,—<br>A letter with a well-known seal?<br>'Tis grandmamma's! I know her hand,—<br>'To Mr. M. A. Titmarsh, Lille.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I feel a choking in my throat,<br>I pant and stagger, faint and reel!<br>It is—it is—a ten-pound note,<br>And I'm no more in pawn at Lille!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>[He goes off by the diligence that evening, and is restored to the<br>bosom of his happy family.]</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=538770" data-title="Titmarsh’s Carmen Lilliense de William Makepeace Thackeray" data-description="LILLE, Sept. 2, 1843.

My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.

I.

With twenty pounds but three weeks since
From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel,
I thou..."></div>
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