Duke's son - cook's son - son of a hundred kings - / (Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!).

A-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot.

Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, / An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?

[Fifty-nine year old Richard Smith, of Sylvania Township, doesn't need a state poet laureate - or someone like Maya Angelou reading a poem at Bill Clinton's 1993 presidential inauguration - to appreciate poetry. He instantly knew his favorite poem:] If ... If you can keep your head when all about you / Are losing theirs and blaming it on you.

And they took away their cattle; of their camels fifty thousand, and of sheep two hundred and fifty thousand, and of asses two thousand, and of men an hundred thousand.

If you can keep your wits about you while all others are losing theirs, and blaming you. The world will be yours and everything in it, what's more, you'll be a man, my son.