OUR ANCIENT NICHOLAS.
Russia, having crossed the Pruth,
Teaches us a bit of truth;
Here we have our precious Czar
Lighting up the flames of war.
He that kept all Europe quiet
Is involving her in riot,
On hostilities we border
With this vaunted man of order.
Who were right and who were wrong,
We, who hissed him all along,
Or the folks that cheered and shouted
After him who women knouted?
Now, perhaps, you are disgusted
With the tyrant whom you trusted,
Oh, unworthy sons of Britain!
—Don't you feel a little bitten?