Lord Lucky

Lord Lucky

Lord Lucky, by a curious fluke,

Became a most important duke.

From living in a vile Hotel

A long way east of Camberwell

He rose, in less than half an hour,

To riches, dignity, and power.

It happened in the following way:

The Real Duke went out one day

To shoot with several people, one

Of whom had never used a gun.

This gentleman (a Mr Meyer

Of Rabley Abbey, Rutlandshire),

As he was scrambling through the brake,

Discharged his weapon by mistake,

And plugged about an ounce of lead

Piff-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 got

The second heir, Lord Poddleplot;

The while the left-hand charge (or choke)

Accounted for another bloke,

Who stood with an astounded air

Bewildered by the whole affair

--And was the third remaining heir.

After the Execution (which

Is something rare among the Rich)

Lord Lucky, while of course he needed

Some help to prove his claim, succeeded.

--But after his succession, though

All this was over years ago,

He only once indulged his whim

Of asking Meyer to lunch with him.

 

-Hilaire Belloc

 

The poem is mostly written in iambic 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...