All Matters adjusted, and finish’d the Parley,
They went on a Party of Pleasure to Marli.
Pork Bouilli and Roté made a Part of the Cheer,
So away to the Don they dispatch’d a Courier.
"Dear Quixote, I’ve duly consider’d your Letter,                                     5
And as vor de Grifkin, I ne’er tasted better.
Next in Order, your Worship, I cordially greet,
On de Wonders perform’d by your Army and Fleet.
Vit a Force so invincible, sure you must hope
To possess ev’ry Doit of your Grant from the Pope.*                            10
But after de toilsome Campaign at your Isle,
Me tink it were right you should rest for a while;
Besides, my dear Phil, vat vit Tierce and vit Carte,
My Skin was so maul’d, dat me still feel de Smart.
My Legions so famous!——sans Victual or Clothes,                             15
Are busy in darning dere Breeches and Hose!
It griev’d me to look at my tatter’d Brigade!
My Sujets are starving, mon Flota decay’d!
Non Credit! non Fund! non von Sous in moy Purse!
Debt, Poverty, Famine, vat Foes can be worse!                                     20
Den, e’er me can venture in Prudence to roam
For Vict’ry abroad, I must conquer at home.
Dese Gunpowder Englis, moreover, me dread,
Vit dere vifty good Sail of the Line at Spithead;
True,—dere Vigg, Tory, Patriot, and Placeman’s be vighting;                 25
But, if nous interpose, dey’ll be all vor uniting.
Yet instead of de Swine, my sweet Phil, blood and oons!
If your Vorship had sent me von Brace of Galloons,
Vat Coups of Eclat, Sir, vat Feats we had done!
Nous had taken Gibraltar as sure as a gun;                                          30
To Jamaica, Minorca, had carry’d our thunder,
And den ave divided our Shares of de Plunder.
Now (if we might advise) you will down on your Knees,
And settle vit Plaintiff, sans Payment of Fees.
To dis Proposition we hope you’ll agree,                                               35
And leave the whole Matter to Madame Barré.
She vil send vor de Coblers to London and Rome,
And all sall be vinish as soon as dey come.
Vor sans doubte, vit de help of our Vriend Maistre Boot,
Nous sall quickly be able to patch up de Suit.                                        40
Young Reynard, you know too, at peacing be clever,
So adieu! mon chere Quixote, and believe me Your’s ever,
                                                                              Louis de B."
But the Don this Epistle no sooner had read,
Than a Qualm seiz’d his Stomach, and drove him to Bed.                      45
He dream’t of Bombs, Blunderbuss, Bloodshed, and Battle,
Saw Carcasses mangled, and heard Bullets rattle.
The British Artillery still tingled his Ear,
When he started from Slumber, bep—ddl—ed with Fear!
"Ah vie! Bucarelli! what horrid Disaster                                                50
Thy Cabbage and Bacon have brought on thy Master!
Ah, what would I give to get out of this Scrape!
I wish thou hadst never committed the Rape!
Haste!—scribble Dispatches to London and Paris!
Give Choc’late to P----r, and Sweetmeats to H----s!                             55
Disband my new Troops,—lay my Frigates in Dock!
But Louis must keep up my Claim to the Rock.
For how hard will it be should I forfeit my Style,
And cease to be King of this Catholick Isle!
When their Vigor the Lilies of France shall renew,                                  60
And Louis my Brother’s as rich as a Jew:
When the Armies of Bourbon shall Conquests display,
And Earth, Air, and Ocean acknowledge their Sway;
When the Old English Oak to our Power shall resign,
And half the wide World, by Partition be mine;                                    65
On these Sons of Rapine I’ll make a Requittal,
And Britain I’ll add to the rest of my Title.
Meanwhile, let us smother our hostile Intention,
And lull them asleep with a Dose of Convention."