[PART SECOND.] DUKE BOBADIL's RETREAT

What meant our consternation? 'Twas all imagination, 'Twas for his recreation, The Duke came into France; He thought we were asleep, And took a harmless peep; But when he saw our forces, Our cannon, foot and horses, Our stores and wide resources, He trembl'd to advance.

Thornville he surrounded, But how was he confounded, And his proud feelings wounded, The WOODEN HORSE to see! His mouth was full of hay, And to the Duke did say, "You proud ambitious sinner, "You never shall come in here, "Till I eat up my dinner; "So take yourself away!"

But O! the manifesto, Affords a pretty jest, O; Just like the juggler's pesto, It rais'd a short surprise; Alas! duke Brobdignag! Where is your empty bag, Your military swaggers, Your swords, and fires, and daggers? Ye crew of silly beggers, Go home and slaughter flies.

Now see the Duke retreating, His pulse quick time in beating, No thought he has of eating, Or drinking, at Parie; The sumptuous feast is done, The court broke up and gone! And Bobadil returning, Chop-fall'n and in mourning, With shame and anger burning, Nor eat, nor sight could he!

Alas! in deep dejection, He takes a new direction, His heels are his protection, And eke the Berlin train And all the EMIGRANTS, And Princes, Cowards, and Cants, Have chang'd the war to races, With wry and ghastly faces, Pursue the wild-goose chaces, With hunger, shame, and pain.

Now France with freedom ringing, And songs of triumph singing, The tyrants noses wringing, All in doleful plight; The RIGHTS OF MAN and France! And Babadil's dear dance!! When he turn'd out his best toes, And ceased his Manifestoes, No longer to molest us, He sav'd himself by flight.