Nay, I do not see why the great Regent himself
Should in times such as these stay at home on the shelf:
Tho' thro' narrow defiles he's not fitted to pass,
Yet who could resist, if he bore down _en masse_?
And tho' oft of an evening perhaps he might prove,
Like our Spanish confederates, "unable to move,"[1]
Yet there's _one_ thing in war of advantage unbounded,
Which is, that he could not with ease be _surrounded_.
In my next I shall sing of their arms and equipment:
At present no more, but--good luck to the shipment!
[1] The character given to the Spanish soldier, in Sir John
Murray's memorable despatch.
HORACE, ODE I. LIB. III.
A FRAGMENT.
_odi profanum, valgus et arceo;
favete linguis: carmina non prius
audila Musarum sacerdos
virginibus puerisque canto.
regum timendorum in proprios greges,
reges in ipsos imperium est Jovis_.
1813.
I hate thee, oh, Mob, as my Lady hates delf;
To Sir Francis I'll give up thy claps and thy hisses,
Leave old Magna Charta to shift for itself,
And, like Godwin, write books for young masters and misses.
Oh! it _is_ not high rank that can make the heart merry,
Even monarchs themselves are not free from mishap:
Tho' the Lords of Westphalia must quake before Jerry,
Poor Jerry himself has to quake before Nap.
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