Then the music began, and the guests open'd fire,
With fugues, and sonatas, and such-like;
Which are things that we Englishmen don't much admire,
Though they 're just what the Germans and Dutch like.
Our hero stepp'd forth, and his countenance shone
With that mixture of stern resolution
And graceful reserve that a martyr puts on,
When he walks to his own execution.
He turn'd back his cuffs and he put back his hair,
And, after these grave preparations,