“Messieurs of the Convention, Gentlemen! “Hav’n’t ye rebell’d against your sovereign?”—“Stuff.” “Deposed him?”—“Nonsense.” “Murder’d him?”—“What then?” “Usurp’d his place and kingdom?”—“Like enough!” “Hav’n’t ye bullied Princes far and near, “Encroach’d upon your neighbours, ’gainst all Law? “Without Religion, Honour, Faith, or Fear, “Sworn and forsworn yourselves?”—“O, ça ira.” “Nay, Gentlemen, I speak not to upbraid: “Rather, I’d say, you seem to need a spur: “Hav’n’t ye still some object of your dread, “Some innocent young Prince, your prisoner? “Poison him—stab him—put him out o’ th’ way— “Is that so monstrous?—Nay, you have a pattern: “Do as I bid you, then stand up, and say, “We are now upon a par with Royal Kattern.” WRITTEN WHEN BUONAPARTE WAS ALTERING THE GOVERNMENTS OF GERMANY. The Madman thought that he did climb Over the wall which bounds the universe; And there he saw how father Time Out of old Moons was busy cutting Stars. Thus o’er our globe Napoleon, As if old Time had lent him scythe and wings, Speeds and destroys, and for his fun From waning Emperors cuts out little Kings. SUGGESTED BY READING DRYDEN’S BRITANNIA REDIVIVA, _A Poem on the Prince, born on the 10th of June, 1688._ When James the Second took his second spouse, The royal couple (as their Church allows) T’ obtain a son and heir devoutly pray’d, And call’d on many a popish saint for aid; By costly gifts and vows they sued to gain Th’ inestimable boon, nor sued in vain: A son was given; and as the story ran, Their saints convey’d the blessing in a warming-pan. And now th’ expected babe, howe’er it came, Was theirs; but living yet without a name. Why to this Child of prayer, this boon of Heaven, A name appropriate was not sooner given; What moved the royal sire to make delay, In such a case, ’tis difficult to say. Dryden suggests—go, read him if you doubt it, There was some brawl among the Saints about it. Good gracious folks, they could not yet agree; Each eager that the name his own should be: He thinks some wanted—but I dare not, I, Repeat what follows of the irreverend lie. Yet since I have curtail’d that Flatterer’s fable, I’ll piece it with another as I am able, And tell you the result of this celestial squabble. There stood an ancient One among the herd, Who took no part, nor utter’d yet a word; He seem’d not much acquainted with the rest; His port was manly, simple was his vest, And veil’d his head: but now he silence broke, And thus in slow and sober tones he spoke. “The Babe, your present care, shall have a name That all his life will follow him with shame. Both He, and whomsoe’er he shall engender, Will be deem’d spurious, and be call’d Pretender.”