Come listen every Lord and Lady, ‘Squire, Gentleman, and Statesman, I’ve got a _little Song_ to sing, About a _very great Man_! And, if the Name of BONAPARTE Should mingle in my Story, ’Tis with all due submission T’ his Honour’s Worship’s Glory. Bow, wow, wow, &c. The kindness of this philanthropic Gentleman extending, From Shore to Shore, Colossus like, Their grievances amending, To Britain would reach, if he could, From fancied Ills to save ye; But tho’ he likes us vastly well, He _does not like our Navy_! Bow, wow, wow, &c. With Egypt, once, he fell in Love, Because it was the high Road, To India, for himself and friends To travel by a nigh Road; And after making mighty Fuss, And fighting Day and Night there, ’Twas vastly ungenteel of us, _Who would not let him stay there_. Bow, wow, wow, &c. A Nobleman was sent to him, For Negotiation able, And _Bonaparte_ kindly set Him down at his own Table, And in a Story, two Hours long, The Gentleman was heard in, Whilst our Ambassador declar’d _He could not get a word in_. Bow, wow, wow, &c. With Belles and Beaux the drawing-room One morning it was quite full, And BONA, like _a Bantam cock_, Came crowing rather spiteful; He then began to huff and bluff, To show that War his Trade is; He scolded all the Englishmen, And frighten’d all the Ladies!!! Bow, wow, wow, &c. From Malta, next, he took his Text, My Lord look’d rather blue on ’t; For every Trick the Consul had, My Lord had one worth _two_ on ’t; Why, Gen’ral, says he, ’Sdeath and Fire, Unless you cease these Capers, They’ll publish every word you say In all the English Papers. Bow, wow, wow, &c. My Lord, says he, you needs must see, I pity British Blindness, And wish to open all your Eyes, Out of pure Love and Kindness, To make a generous People free, My Legions shall pell mell come, What think you then?--Why, Sir, I think _They’d be more free than welcome_. Bow, wow, wow, &c. When I come o’er, I’ll make all Britons Live in perfect bliss, Sir, I’m sure they will receive me just As kindly as the Swiss, Sir. The Odds an hundred are to one I fail, tho’ Fortune’s Minion. Says our Ambassador to him, _I’m quite of your opinion_. Bow, wow, wow, &c. My Lord, says he, I’ll take the Field. _You’d better take the Ocean._ My plans are deep.--_Why, yes, they’ll reach The Bottom, I’ve a Notion._ What would the English think to see Me ’twixt Boulogne and Dover? _Why, General, they’d surely think Your Worship half seas over!_ Bow, wow, wow, &c.