New villas, new fetes (which even Waithman attends)--
New saddles, new helmets, and--why not _new friends_?
* * * * *
I repeat it, "New Friends"--for I cannot describe
The delight I am in with this Perceval tribe.
Such capering!--Such vaporing!--Such rigor!--Such vigor!
North, South, East, and West, they have cut such a figure,
That soon they will bring the whole world round our ears,
And leave us no friends--but Old Nick and Algiers.
When I think of the glory they've beamed on my chains,
'Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious brains.
It is true we are bankrupts in commerce and riches,
But think how we find our Allies in new breeches!
We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 'tis granted,
But then we've got Java, an island much wanted,
To put the last lingering few who remain,
Of the Walcheren warriors, out of their pain.
Then how Wellington fights! and how squabbles his brother!
_For_ Papists the one and _with_ Papists the other;
_One_ crushing Napoleon by taking a City,
While t'other lays waste a whole Catholic Committee.
Oh deeds of renown!--shall I boggle or flinch,
With such prospects before me? by Jove, not an inch.
No--let _England's_ affairs go to rack, if they will,
We'll look after the affairs of the _Continent_ still;
And with nothing at home but starvation and riot,
Find Lisbon in bread and keep Sicily quiet.
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