"I grant his household abstinence; I grant His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want;" a kind master; a well-meaning, though unwise father; a faithful husband, possessing "that household virtue, most uncommon, Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman," which was the more creditable as his nature was vastly susceptible. He was pious, anxious to do his duty, and deeply attached to his country, but believing himself always in the right, was frequently led by his feelings into courses such as justified Byron's magnificent onslaught:-- "In the first year of Freedom's second dawn Died George the Third; although no tyrant, one Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn Left him nor mental nor external sun; A better farmer ne'er brushed dew from lawn, A worse king never left a realm undone. He died--but left his subjects still behind, One half as mad, and t'other no less blind."[3] [3] _The Vision of Judgment._ Yet, notwithstanding all the mistakes George III made, and all the mischief he did, his reign ended in a blaze of glory. England had survived the French Revolution without disastrous effects; and had taken a leading part in the subjugation of Napoleon. Nelson and Wellington, Wordsworth and Keats, Fox and Pitt, reflected their glory and the splendour of their actions upon the country of their birth. Yet--such is the irony of fate at its bitterest--while the world acknowledged the supremacy of England on land, at sea, and in commerce, while a whole people, delighted with magnificent achievements, acclaimed their ruler, crying lustily "God save the King," George, in whose name these great deeds were done, was but "a crazy old blind man in Windsor Tower." "Give me a royal niche--it is my due, The virtuousest king the realm ever knew. I, through a decent reputable life, Was constant to plain food and a plain wife. Ireland I risked, and lost America; But dined on legs of mutton every day. My brain, perhaps, might be a feeble part; But yet I think I had an English heart. When all the Kings were prostrate, I alone Stood face to face against Napoleon; Nor ever could the ruthless Frenchman forge A fetter for old England and old George. I let loose flaming Nelson on his fleets; I met his troops with Wellesley's bayonets. Triumphant waved my flag on land and sea: Where was the King in Europe like to me? Monarchs exiled found shelter on my shores; My bounty rescued Kings and Emperors. But what boots victory by land and sea, What boots that Kings found refuge at my knee? I was a conqueror, but yet not proud; And careless, even when Napoleon bow'd. The rescued Kings came kiss my garments' hem: The rescued Kings I never heeded them. My guns roared triumph, but I never heard: All England thrilled with joy, I never stirred.