BADAJOZ to his martial genius owes :
While at ALMAREZ, on Iberia's foes,
HILL points Britannia's thunder.-Sad disgrace
Blends with domestic story,-time nor place
Protects from murder's unexampled deed,
At once the parent, wife, and infant bleed.*
The solemn senate no asylum yields,
Nor PERCEVAL from sanguine fury shields ;
There, unprotected by the sacred walls,
Assassination's virtuous victim falls.
From tristful subjects turn the tearful eye,
To, once more, WELLINGTON and victory!
Before his better genius MARMONT flies,†
And Paris journals teem, of course, with lies.
To conquer Russia BONAPARTE assumes,
And his high full-fledg'd eagle moults her plumes,
Flies back quite stripp'd of each victorious feather,
All which, France says, is owing-to the weather.
If true effects and causes you'd explore,
The Petersburgh gazette will tell you more.
*The tragedies of Marrs, Williamsons, &c. &c.
At the glorious battle of Salamanca.
Reader, while thus we've trudg'd together,
Through ups and downs, in various weather;
I've tried, with small success I fear,
The unembellished path to cheer.
I've painted ABORIGINES
Worse than they did their arms and knees;
Of Roman Chiefs, and Saxon wiles,
I've sung in hope to gain your smiles.
Of kingdoms and what monarchs kept them,
'Till EGBERT join'd in uno septem;
Of ETHELWULPH, and good Saint AUSTIN,
Who love and politics were lost in ;
Of ETHELBERT and ETHELBALD,
Which two were but one sov'reign call'd.
Of ETHELRED, and, (England's pride,)
He who the minstrels calling tried;
Anticipation wont be long,
To guess that ALFRED gilds the song ;
The song which next essay'd to sing.
Of Elder EDWARD, and the King.
ATHELSTAN who, or mem'ry fails,
Fought much in Ireland and in Wales;
And pious EDMUND basely slain,
By LEOLF; then came EDRED's reign,
When England triumph'd o'er the Dane.
Speaking of EDWY we lamented,
That he by DUNSTAN was tormented;
EDGAR was mention'd more at large,
Rowed by eight princes in a barge.
Of Martyr'd EDWARD's tale we boast,
Because it introduced a ghost :
(In modern day no work of merit
Can otherwise go off with spirit.)
For Second ETHELRED you felt,
When forced to pay (that bore) Danegelt;
We might have brought ye next a SWAIN,
But his can scarce be call'd a reign.
CANUTE and ETHELRED again,
Not long your notice cou'd obtain,
Before came EDMUND IRONSIDE,
He and CANUTE the land divide.
I think we named among the worst
Of sov'reigns, HAROLD, styled the first ;
Saint EDWARD, who abhorr'd the Devil,
Destroy'd Danegelt and cured the evil;
O'er hapless HAROLD's fate I wept,
While you, perhaps, my readers, slept;
Which I presume in turn to do
While singing NORMAN BILL'S curfew.
Next, fancy, in new forest walking,
Of REDHAIR'D WILLIAM sets us talking;
HARRY the First, I think, we found,
Died worth a hundred thousand pound;
His daughter MAUDE and nephew STEPHEN
Found things at odds, which death made even.
(If not, we somewhere have misreckon'd,)
And enter HARRY named the Second;
Fair ROSAMOND we here must pass,
Although a most delightful lass;
And give a glance of recollection,
To CŒUR DE LION, whose protection
Aided so much the martial cross,
It caused John Bull no little loss.
NOW ARTHUR'S woes, (by uncle JOHN
Most villainously put upon);
We sadly sung, and still more grave,
Told ye some stories of a cave,
(As deep as Tunnel bored at Highgate,)
Cut underneath the town of Reigate;
Where MAGNA CHARTA darkly plotted,
Was there, as since, of course much blotted.
Then you some trivial matters heard
About King HENRY the third;
EDWARD, who caus'd his foes great losses,
And for his wife built many crosses;
Gave to the Welch their native prince,
EDWARD the Second ;-you were since
Inform'd this Second EDWARD fell,
And a Third EDWARD bore the bell,
Who with his SABLE SON o'ercame
All co-mates in the road of fame.
With pens impartial we disclosed
How Second RICHARD was deposed;
Doom'd to see all his hopes miscarry,
In favour of our Fourth King HARRY.
The Muse's task wou'd ne'er be done,
(Talking of that King HARRY's son,)
If she again to tell wou'd deign
The glory of Fifth HARRY's reign ;
Enough for her with tears to wail
O'er Sixth King HENRY'S mournful tale.
We sung of EDWARD, (number four,)
And his penchant for Mistress SHORE;
We shudder'd at the fiend who slew
Fifth EDWARD and his brother.-Do
Admit, dear reader, that our pen
Murder'd-the story—o'er again.
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