And joins to wrap America in flames.
Yet with feigned pity, and Satanic grin,
As if more deep to fix the keen insult,
Or make his life a farce still more complete,
He sends a groan across the broad Atlantic,
And with a phiz of crocodilian stamp,
Can weep, and wreathe, still hoping to deceive;
He cries—the gathering clouds hang thick about her,
But laughs within; then sobs—
Alas, my country!"