And soon the treasures that had touch'd
Exalted lips were ours!

One large one--at the moment
It seem'd almost divine -
Was got by that Miss Beaumont:
And three, O three, are mine!
Yes! the three stones that rest beneath
Glass, on that plain deal shelf,
Stranger, once dallied with the teeth
Of Royalty itself.

Let Parliament abolish
Churches and States and Thrones:
With reverent hand I'll polish
Still, still my Cherrystones!
A clod--a piece of orange-peel
An end of a cigar -
Once trod on by a Princely heel,
How beautiful they are!

Years since, I climb'd Saint Michael
His Mount:- you'll all go there
Of course, and those who like'll
Sit in Saint Michael's Chair:
For there I saw, within a frame,
The pen--O heavens! the pen -
With which a Duke had sign'd his name,
And other gentlemen.