[He "married a princess of the House of Punch."--_Excerpt
front an account of the life of a former King of Kashmir_.]

Hail, Master, and accept the news I bring.
I come to make a solemn mystery clear,
One that affects you deeply; for I sing
Of a most ancient king
Nine hundred years ago in fair Kashmir,
Who yearned towards a bride, and--hear, oh hear,
Lord of the reboant nose and classic hunch--
"Married a princess of the House of Punch."

Yes, you are royal, as one might have seen.
The loftiness of your despotic sway,
Your strange aloofness and unearthly mien
(Yet regal) might have been
A full assurance of monarchic clay.
Had but the fates run kindly, at this day
Yourself should be a king of orient fame,
Chief of the princely house that bears your name.

Methinks I see you at it. I can see
A shamiana[1] loftily upreared
Beneath a banyan (or banana) tree,
Whichever it may be,
Where, with bright turban and vermilion beard
(A not unfrequent sight, and very weird),
You sit at peace; a small boy, doubly bowed,
Acts as your footstool and, though stiff, is proud.