A young man in a Mu-se-um
Was showing me a mummy
Who lay there patiently, but glum,
A-clasping of his tummy. . .
Cophetua or Kafoozelum,
Or some such regal rummy.
“In youth,” says I, “this king was gay,
In spite of Mrs. Grundy;
He burnt the Nile one Saturday,

But where was he on Sunday?”
I added, in my learned way,
“'Sic transit gloria mundi!'
“He conquered princes not a few;
They voted as he bid 'em.
From Babylon to Timbuctoo,
From Sheba up to Siddim,
He thought of things he shouldn't do,
And then he went and did 'em!
“He loved to send out royal bids
For high Egyptian jinkses
Where pretty Theban katydids
And little Memphian minxes
Would trot among the pyramids
And tango round the sphinxes . . .
“But now, in his sarcophagus,
How quite deceased we find him,
With sand in his aesophagus
And all his past behind him,
While Time (the anthropophagus!)
Is whetting teeth to grind him.
“Then note, my lad, the end of kings!
Therefore, avoid ambition,
For earthly greatness all has wings.
You stick to your position,
And if men come with crowns and things
To tempt you, go a-fishin'!”
“Was I a Kingly Souse,” says he,
Impressed from A to Izzard,
“Would I wind up so leathery
As this departed wizard,
With baldness on the dome of me,
And gravel in my gizzard?”
“You would without a doubt,” says I,
“Lose wealth and health and hair, O!”
Shaken with sobs he made reply,
“I promise, and I swear, O!
That I will never drink!—and try
And never be a Pharaoh!”