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Saturday, 8 September 2018

Past Glories

From laying of the Treasury to waste,
And slurping of Fitzherberts in his cups,
A King must have a refuge in good taste
To rest his paunch and hold his throwing-ups.

Let silver spurt in blobs victorious,
And golden dragons warm his humble hut;
Let sunflowers blast forth like glorious
Projectiles from his blesséd regal gut.

All overhung with silks, exotic fish,
And stencilled lozenges all beauteous,
He'd foregather and, at his royal wish,
Dispense the fragrance of his gluteus.

© Philip Challinor

George IV's restored Brighton pavilion saloon unveiled

Philip Challinor posts fiction, satire and assorted grumbles at The Curmudgeon. His longer fiction is available at Philip's Store.

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