Your Government I’ll tame, says he, Since War you are so fond on; I’ve got my will in Paris here, And wish the same in London; I’ll rule your great _John Bull_! says he, I have him in the Ring, Sir.-- Says John, I’ll not be rul’d by you, Nor any such a _Thing_, Sir. Bow, wow, wow, &c. Then bring my Flag, invincible, _A Scot took it long ago, Sir_. For now I think, your ships I’ll sink, And never strike a Blow, Sir, A clever Man has found a plan, A plan he’s surely right in, For if you beat the British Fleet, _It must not be at Fighting_. Bow, wow, wow, &c. Quite frantic now, he vows Revenge, The Moment that he’s landed, And proudly boasts, we cannot hope To fight him single handed. What, single handed, we can do, His troops shall know full well soon; For him, he learn’d it long ago, From _single handed_ Nelson. Bow, wow, wow, &c. Now, since their Minds are quite made up, Let me on this Occasion, Make one request to Neptune: Should They dream of an Invasion; _To bring them safely out of Port, On gentle Billows guide them, To where a set of British Boys May anchor close beside them._ Bow, wow, wow, &c. Reference is made to Napoleon’s attempts to stir up sedition in Ireland in ‘An attempt on the Potatoe bag,’ by some artist unknown (August 1803). It shows an Irishman trudging along towards Dublin, having on his back a huge sack of potatos, which Napoleon is slitting, allowing the potatos to escape. Says Bonaparte: ‘I say, Paddy, Give up the bag quietly, and you shall have this Purse of Gold.’ But Paddy replies: ‘I see what you are at, you sly Teaf of the World; you may cut out a few of the Potatoes that are rotten at the core--but, by St. Patrick, you’ll never get the whole bag--so you may pocket your Cash, and march home and be D--d.’ Dean Swift’s ‘Gulliver’ is very frequently used as a _motif_ for caricature, and Charles etched (August 1803) ‘Gulliver and his Guide, or a Check String to the Corsican.’ King George, as King of Brobdingnag, is seated in a gallery, looking through the invariable glass at Gulliver (Napoleon), who is climbing a flight of steps to get at him; but he has a rope round his neck, which is held by a sailor armed with a stout oak cudgel. Says the King: ‘Ay, what! what! Does the little Gulliver want my C *** n! Let him come, and he will soon find how ’tis protected. Hearts of oak are our ships, Jolly tars are our men, &c. &c.’ Napoleon, throttled by the rope, exclaims: ‘If these fellows did not keep such a tight hand over me, I would soon try how that Ornament would fit my head.’ Whilst the sailor, who has him in hand and checks his advance, calls out: ‘Avast there, my little fellow; for, D--n my Timbers, if I don’t take you Aback before you reach the end of your Intended travels. So pull away, pull away, I say, for the tight little bit of land in the Ocean.’