Judge, 1914-02-28 · page 15 of 24
Judge — February 28, 1914 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This illustrated poem satirizes the futility of seeking happiness or contentment. When a king falls ill, courtiers consult an astrologer who prescribes finding a contented man's coat to cure him. Four messengers search everywhere—camps, courts, monasteries, pleasure resorts—but three return empty-handed: contentment simply doesn't exist among the population. The fourth messenger finally locates a genuinely contented man, offering hope. However, the punchline reveals the bitter truth: this rare contented person is so poor he owns no coat to give. The satire suggests that true contentment is either impossible to find or belongs only to those with nothing to lose—making it useless as a cure for a wealthy, powerful king. It's commentary on the incompatibility of wealth/power and genuine satisfaction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Maurice Switzer _ Tre King was sick. For it happens to be That imperial flesh is heir To the most plebeian sort of an ill, That merely calls for a lotion or pill; But here was a case that baffled the skill Of the Royal Leech, for fair. Deep was the gloom that pervaded the Court. For they didn’t know what to do, As every whiskered and wise M. D., With his predecessor would dis- agree— Except, perhaps, in the size of his fee— Hence, the Ministers felt blue. Came a spectacled man in a spangled robe, Who looked at the King and said: “This isn't a case for a medicine-man, We'll work it out on a different plan; To-night the Heavens I'll carefully scan, Then tell you what I have read.” The following morn said the Spangled Bard, “The Planets this message send: “If the coat of a man who is content, Be placed for a day on the shoulders bent, Of your Monarch most high and excellent, His Majesty's health will mend.’ So the Couriers sped with feverish haste. A Contented Man to find, And acquire his coat, and bring it back— If green or red, whether purple or black, Toga or gaberdine, doublet or sack, Or jerkin, leather-lined. Four Messengers left; and there straggled back Three of them haggard and spent, Who told how they ‘d traveled from camp to court, From monastery to pleasure resort, Yet most regretfully had to report They had found no man content. Now things looked bad; but a confident band Would never a defeat confess: That three of the Messengers failed, was true, But the fourth Envoy was overdue, Which fact, in the judgment of just these few, Spelled certainly some success. Then the fourth man came, and at sight of him The wildest of joy prevailed. A man content was discovered, said he, So the populace danced and shouted in glee— Yea, every man hugged his neighbor—save three— The Messengers who had failed. “The jacket! He's got it! Long live the King!” Voiced many a clarion throat. But the Messenger sadly shook his head— “I have found the Contented Man,” he said, “But he hadn't a sou—not a single red, And he couldn't afford a coat!” comicbooks.com