The ode has been translated into German (by the Rev. E. C. Hawtrey); into Latin Elegiacs (by the Rev. J. Hildyard); and there is a Greek translation of it "By a Scottish Physician" in the _Arundines Devæ_ (Edinburgh, 1853); there is also a parody of it by the late Mr. J. H. Dixon, which is highly spoken of, but, up till now, this has eluded the editor's researches. The Rev. R. H. Barham's well known parody in "The Ingoldsby Legends" is especially notable for its close imitation of the original; thus not only is the metre closely followed, but nearly all the lines are made to end with similar rhymes to those in the original. Barham had a good excuse for this comical effusion, in the wish to expose and ridicule the pretensions of a certain _soi-disant_ "Doctor," a Durham veterinary surgeon of the name of Marshall, on whose behalf a claim had been made, in 1824, for the authorship of the "Ode." But this was afterwards said to have been a mere hoax, as this Marshall was more remarkable for convivial, than literary tastes. Note.--In the autumn of 1824, Captain Medwin having hinted that certain beautiful lines on the burial of this gallant officer might have been the production of Lord Byron's muse, the late Mr. Sydney Taylor, somewhat indignantly, claimed them for their rightful owner, the late Rev. Charles Wolfe. During the controversy a third claimant started up in the person of a _soi-disant_ "Doctor Marshall," who turned out to be a Durham blacksmith, and his pretensions a hoax. It was then that a certain "Doctor Peppercorn" put forth _his_ pretensions to what he averred was the only "true and original" version, viz.:-- Not a _sous_ had he got, not a guinea or note, And he looked confoundedly flurried, As he bolted away without paying his shot, And the Landlady after him hurried. We saw him again at dead of night, When home from the Club returning, We twigg'd the Doctor beneath the light Of the gas lamp brilliantly burning. All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews, Reclined in the gutter we found him, And he look'd like a gentleman taking a snooze, With his _Marshall_ cloak around him. "The Doctor's as drunk as the d----," we said, And we managed a shutter to borrow; We raised him, and sigh'd at the thought that his head Would consumedly ache on the morrow. We bore him home, and we put him to bed, And we told his wife and his daughter To give him, next morning, a couple of red Herrings, with soda water. Loudly they talk'd of his money that's gone, And his Lady began to upbraid him; But little he reck'd, so they let him snore on 'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him. We tuck'd him in, and had hardly done, When, beneath the window calling, We heard the rough voice of a son-of-a-gun Of a watchman, "One o'clock," bawling.