I. Cruikshank drew ‘Harlequin’s last Skip’ (August 23, 1804). Bonaparte is represented in a harlequin’s suit, enormous cocked hat, boots, and a blackened face. His sword is broken, and, with upraised hands, in a supplicating attitude, he exclaims, ‘O Sacre Dieu! John Bull is de very Devil.’ John Bull, with upraised cudgel, says: ‘Mr. Boney Party, you have changed Characters pretty often and famously well, and skipped about at a precious rate. But this Invasion hop is your last--we have got you snug--the devil a trap to get through here--Your conjuration sword has lost its Power; you have lied till you are black in the face, and there is no believing a word you say--so now you shall carry John Bull’s mark about with you, as every swaggerer should.’ ‘British men of war towing in the Invader’s Fleet,’ artist unknown (September 25, 1804), shows a number of English sailors seated on the necks of French and Dutch men, whom they are guiding over the sea to England. One sailor, evidently a Scotchman, is pulling his opponent’s ears; the poor Frenchman cries out, ‘Oh Morbleu! de salt water make me sick; O mine pauvre Ears!’ but his ruthless conqueror has no pity, ‘Deil tak your soul, ye lubberly Loon, gin ye dinna mak aw sail, I’ll twist off your lugs.’ An English sailor rides the redoubtable Boney, and pulls his nose: ‘Steady Master Emperor, if you regard your Imperial Nose. Remember a British Tar has you in tow--No more of this wonderful, this great and mighty nation who frighten all the world with their buggabo invasion.’ But Boney pleads, ‘Oh! mercy, take me back, me will make you all Emperors; it will be Boney here, Boney there, and Boney everywhere, and me wish to my heart me was dead.’ An Irish sailor on a Dutchman yells out, ‘By Jasus, my Jewel, these bum boats are quizzical toys and sure--heave ahead, you bog trotting spalpeen, or I shall be after keel hauling you. Huzza, Huzza, Huzza, my boys, Huzza! ’Tis Britannia boys, Britannia rules the waves.’ Another Dutchman complains, ‘O Mynheer Jan English you vill break my back.’ But the relentless sailor who bestrides him takes out his tobacco-box, and says, ‘Now for a quid of comfort! pretty gig for Jack Tars. Good bye to your bombast, we’re going to Dover, Was ever poor Boney, so fairly done over.’