She paid a vile rabble to shout round her car, Her teachers, so pious, were Fellowes and Parr; Her councillors, Aldermen Waithman and Wood, Could she find nothing worse? She might try if she could. Abroad there was nothing more low than her groom, At home there are Wilson, Moore, Hobhouse, and Hume. Oh! what will the rancour of party not do! Ye Howards and Russells, this sigh is for you! To an union so base can ye bend your proud will? Yes, great though the peril, unmeasured the ill, Through the country delusion and clamour must ring, And your rivals to strike, you must menace your King. In Suffolk, to aid in so loyal a plan, From Mildenhall upstarts a little dark man; His hue it was bilious, his eyes they were ghast, Long and pale were his fingers that held a quill fast, And grimly he scowl'd, whilst his rancour and spleen Distill'd in a spurious Address to the Queen. How spotless and pure was this paragon shown! How safe, through its friends, an attack on the Throne, Their motives were wicked, their actions were base;-- Some wonder'd, no doubt, at so alter'd a case, Who cannot forget, though 'tis plain that _he_ can, The favours they heap'd on this dark little man. From childhood the imp in the Palace was rear'd, Its bounties his parents, his kindred all shared; With rapid advancement, too rapid by half, He outstripp'd the foremost of line or of staff; But soon from the chances of service withdrew, With the profits and safety of office in view. To Liverpool, Bathurst, and colleagues he bow'd; He courted their smiles, and attachment he vow'd; Obtain'd a snug place, with the means to do ill, To some who despised, but remember it still: He was fearlessly trusted, and laugh'd in his sleeve-- "Those you mean to betray you must ever deceive." Indulged by his patrons, the confident elf, No talent imagined except in himself; Of the merits of others a censor severe, Even Wellington might not escape from his sneer; But they trusted him still, not suspecting his plan, Ah, little they knew of the dark little man! Next a General's apparel he put on, so new, The coat of fine scarlet, the facings of blue, With gold all embroider'd so costly; and last The loop with the plume that waved high in the blast, 'Twould have vex'd you at heart, if such sights ever can, To have gazed on the dizen'd-out little dark man. That Order, of Heroes the dying bequest, Its ribbon that blush'd as it cover'd his breast; The Star and the Badge that tried valour should wear, As if he had earn'd them, he took to his share: Like a pigmy he climb'd up on Honour's high tree, And blazon'd his name with a large K. C. B.