The Sun.
London, England, 1849-04-19 00:00:00

PUNCH, PLUT US, AND KING

HUDSON.
(From Punch.)
(A dialogue after the manner of Lucian)
Punch—Who is it that runs this way, followed by a
pack of Curs that bark about his heels, while that short
figure in glistening dress of gold foil strives to frighten
them away by &baking money-bags?
Enter the King and Plutus, out of breath.
___. .

What! the Iron Fling—hail, 0 Monarch! But what
means this dismay, these tattered garments, those dints
on thy crown of iron?

Phi-tug—Cheer up, 0 friend—see, already the pack
slink backwards, cowed, as it seems, by the baton of this
stranger.
King H.—This, 0 Plutus, is a stranger, indeed, to thee
alone of all the Gods: the Muses know him, and Phcebus,
nor is the son of Maia himself averse from him. This,
0 Plutus, is Punch, the son of Momus. and Eumousia.
Plutus—Hail, 0 Punch! I am the God of Wealth,
and I consort ever among men. And now I protect my
triend here, who has sacrificed much on the altar, from
those Dogs yonder, who yesterday licked his hand, and
fawned upon him for scraps, but now would tear him.
Punch—l have seen many dethroned Kings, 0
Plutus—amongst them, Louis, the aged King of the
Gauls.

Plutus—Him I knew well—a constant worshipper of
mine, but I cannot prop up thrones. I can only break
the fall from them on my money-bags.
Punch—And hast thou also fallen, 0 Iron King?
King lI.—I learn it only by these barkings. But
why they bark I know not—for I am the same as I was
when they raised Golden Images to me, and called me
great, and ate much dirt at my hands, and took cuffs
and spurns with patience. I have done nothing that I
did not then do, and they were still welcome to the
crums from my table.
Punch—But, 0 King, do the crumbs still fall as
abundantly as before? Dogs must be fed or they will
bark, and thy worshippers were but those Dogs, that
would now tear thee.

King H.—Give me gold, 0 Plutus, that I may throw
it to them.

Plutus—O my friend, I cannot. What I had for
thee, thou hadst, and hast turned it into iron.

PUnch—llear, 0 King, and I will tell thee a fable.
Two gold diggers sat by the Sacramento. And they
digged, and the one got much more gold than the other,
for he plunged deeper in the mud of the stream. And
the other worshipped him, but it was the gold that he
reverenced, and not the digger. But at last the strongest
digger got out all the gold in that place, and then he sat
and rested his hands; and the other then, seeing his
hands, called out, " 0 how dirty are thine hands, thou
vile digger of gold!" and reviled him. But his friend
said to him, " Look at thine own hands. Thou has not
gathered so much gold as I, but no loss dirt hath stuck
to thy fingers." Thus it is, 0 King, with thee, and thy
worshippers of yesterday. Hadat thou gone on grub-
bing for gold, and giving them of it, they would not have
noticed the foulness of thy hands, but rather kissed them
for the odour of gold that hung about them.
King ll.—But they worshipped me.
Punch—Nay, not thee, but the gold that came from
thee. But now art thou like the King of Brass, that sits
at the Cross of Charing, in the city of London. He was
taken down, and buried, and one sold knives and forks,
which the seller said were cast from the brass of him.
So thou shalt be taken down, and out of thee shall men
make iron rails, and thou shalt be railed upon in many
ways.

Plutus—Thou shouldst have known, 0 King, when
thou didst become my worshipper, that the crowns I can
bestow are not lasting crowns, and that the iron in
thine did not make it more durable. Nevertheless, I
pity thee.
Punch—And I, that never bowed down to thee, while
thou worest thy crown,—l will keep off the dogs that
now snap at the tattered hem of thy royal robe.
King H.—O friend, I thank thee.