Her very first draught of vital air Of this world was a whiff Of the genuine Otto of Roses! When she saw the light-it was no mere ray Of that light so common-so everyday— That the sun each morning launches— But six wax tapers dazzled her eyes, From a thing-a gooseberry bush for sizeWith a golden stem and branches. She was born exactly at half-past two, That stood on a marble table- With a golden God, with a golden Star, Like other babes, at her birth she cried; It shook the next heir In his library chair, And made him cry "Confound her!" Of signs and omens there was no dearth, As if knock'd on the head, And ale ran about, And the village-bells such a peal rang out, In no time at all, like mushroom spawn, As that huge repast, With its loads and cargoes Of drink and botargoes, At the Birth of the Babe in Rabelais. Hundreds of men were turn'd into beasts, And each country lass, and each country lad, And even some old ones appear'd to have had A bite from the Naples Spider. Then as night came on, It had scared King John, To have seen the maroons, And wheels of the same, That according to some were "whizzable." Oh, happy Hope of the Kilmanseggs! That her parents had such full pockets! For had she been born of Want and Thrift, For care and nursing all adrift, It's ten to one she had had to make shift And how was the precious Baby drest? Her best bibs were made Of rich gold brocade, And the others of silver tissue. And when the Baby inclined to nap Of notions so exalted, She drank nothing lower than Curaçoa, Maraschino, or pink Noyau, And on principle never malted. From a golden boat, with a golden spoon, And when she took to squall and kick- In short, she was born, and bred, and nurst, To please the genteelest censor- Her Christening. Though Shakspeare asks us, "What's in a name?" (As if cognomens were much the same,) There's really a very great scope in it. A name?-why, wasn't there Doctor Dodd, A name?—if the party had a voice, Not to mention many a vulgar name, That would make a doorplate blush for shame, If doorplates were not so brazen ! A name?-it has more than nominal worth, In spite of his Page's hat and hose, Now to christen the infant Kilmansegg, And scores were tried, like coin, by the ring, Then cards were sent, the presence to beg |