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FRANCIS JEFFREY, ESQUIRE,
&c., &c., &c.,
you Taunting Burke with your eloquence, Swift with your jest, While the chorus was Constable's chink in your
chest ! But opinions stride on, while things linger behind What of old pass'd for thunder, now weighs but as wind; And you, a great man as could possibly be, Stand diminish'd to modest dimensions by ME.
II. I am sure, like one waked from a dream, you look back To the days when you hoisted your flag of attack; When against THE OLD FORTRESS you opend your trenches, With a jig, as the mode of your masters the French is; While one PRIEST whistled on with the note of Voltaire, And the smile of another recalled D'Alembert, And you seemed A Great Man as could possibly be, Never dreaming of damnable dampers from ME.
III. You all seem'd so giddy, so gamesome, so gay, Paine and Hell shouted “ Go it, we're sure of the day.”— Such a confident crowing contemptuous air, Fill'd the hearts of a thousand good fools with despair ; While there wanted not some of our old pluckless tories, Who like spoonies would fawn and talk big of your glories, Calling you a great Man as could possibly be ; -Lacking heart even to hope for a hero like me.
IV. How the fine yellow's dimm'd in its delicate hue ! What a stain has been stamp'd on the beautiful blue ! How each frolicsome face that enliven 'd Craig-Crook Has been changed for a down-looking, dumpish, sour look! O the heart that of old could like quick-silver bound, How it sinks! I am sure it weighs more than a pound ! O the biggest small Man that could possibly be, How he casts up his whites when he thinks upon ME!