Aye! thousands would improve the pen,
In ecstasies, to praise the man,
Or rhetorise in words of bliss—
“To him perpetual happiness
Should be awarded from on high,
For ridding that dire enemy.” * * *
Oh! what a song of joy I’d write
If I could hear it said to-night—
“The plaguy rogue was kill’d outright.”
Alas! (I am most loath to state)