Lord Lucky
Lord Lucky, by a curious fluke,Became a most important duke.From living in a vile HotelA long way east of CamberwellHe rose, in less than half an hour,To riches, dignity, and power.It happened in the following way:The Real Duke went out one dayTo shoot with several people, oneOf whom had never used a gun.This gentleman (a Mr MeyerOf Rabley Abbey, Rutlandshire),As he was scrambling through the brake,Discharged his weapon by mistake,And plugged about an ounce of leadPiff-bang into his Grace's Head--Who naturally fell down dead.His Heir, Lord Ugly, roared, 'You Brute!Take that to teach you how to shoot!'Whereat he volleyed, left and right;But being somewhat short of sight,His right-hand barrel only gotThe second heir, Lord Poddleplot;The while the left-hand charge (or choke)Accounted for another bloke,Who stood with an astounded airBewildered by the whole affair--And was the third remaining heir.After the Execution (whichIs something rare among the Rich)Lord Lucky, while of course he neededSome help to prove his claim, succeeded.--But after his succession, thoughAll this was over years ago,He only once indulged his whimOf asking Meyer to lunch with him.
-Hilaire Belloc
The poem is mostly written in iamic tetrameter couplets, but two of the three deaths get a third rhyme. Poor Lord Poddleplot doesn't even get that third rhyme.
Whenever I think of this poem I'm always reminded of Kind Hearts and Coronets, though Lord Lucky is lucky in ways the Alec Guinness character--in any of his shapes--is distinctly not...
lol. What a fun poem.
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