The Condemned Jester
Horace Smith, one of the authors of the “Rejected Addresses,” tells us that a king of Scanderoon had a jester who played audacious tricks on the royal family, the courtiers, and persons of great distinction. But at length, emboldened by long tolerance of his freaks and hoaxes, the buffoon went too far:
Some sin, at last, beyond all measure
Incurred the desperate displeasure
Of his serene and raging highness;
Whether he twitched his most revered
And sacred beard
Or had intruded on the shyness
Of the seraglio, or let fly
An epigram at royalty,
None knows—his sin was an occult one;
But records tell us that the sultan,
Meaning to terrrify the knave,
Exclaimed, “’Tis time to stop that breath;
Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave!
Thou stand’st condemned to certain death.
Silence, base rebel! no replying.
But such is my indulgence still
Out of my own free grace and will,
I leave to thee the mode of dying.”
“Thy royal will be done—’tis just,”
Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust;
“Since, my last moments to assuage,
Your majesty’s humane decree
Has deigned to leave the choice to me,
I’ll die, so please you, of old age!”