Your Government I’ll tame, says he,
Since War you are so fond on;
I’ve got my will in Paris here,
And wish the same in London;
I’ll rule your great John Bull! says he,
I have him in the Ring, Sir.—
Says John, I’ll not be rul’d by you,
Nor any such a Thing, Sir.
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
Then bring my Flag, invincible,
A Scot took it long ago, Sir.
For now I think, your ships I’ll sink,
And never strike a Blow, Sir,
A clever Man has found a plan,
A plan he’s surely right in,
For if you beat the British Fleet,
It must not be at Fighting.
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
Quite frantic now, he vows Revenge,
The Moment that he’s landed,
And proudly boasts, we cannot hope
To fight him single handed.
What, single handed, we can do,
His troops shall know full well soon;
For him, he learn’d it long ago,
From single handed Nelson.
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
Now, since their Minds are quite made up,
Let me on this Occasion,
Make one request to Neptune: Should
They dream of an Invasion;
To bring them safely out of Port,
On gentle Billows guide them,
To where a set of British Boys
May anchor close beside them.
Bow, wow, wow, &c.
Reference is made to Napoleon’s attempts to stir up sedition in Ireland in ‘An attempt on the Potatoe bag,’ by some artist unknown (August 1803). It shows an Irishman trudging along towards Dublin, having on his back a huge sack of potatos, which Napoleon is slitting, allowing the potatos to escape. Says Bonaparte: ‘I say, Paddy, Give up the bag quietly, and you shall have this Purse of Gold.’ But Paddy replies: ‘I see what you are at, you sly Teaf of the World; you may cut out a few of the Potatoes that are rotten at the core—but, by St. Patrick, you’ll never get the whole bag—so you may pocket your Cash, and march home and be D—d.’
Dean Swift’s ‘Gulliver’ is very frequently used as a motif for caricature, and Charles etched (August 1803) ‘Gulliver and his Guide, or a Check String to the Corsican.’ King George, as King of Brobdingnag, is seated in a gallery, looking through the invariable glass at Gulliver (Napoleon), who is climbing a flight of steps to get at him; but he has a rope round his neck, which is held by a sailor armed with a stout oak cudgel. Says the King: ‘Ay, what! what! Does the little Gulliver want my C *** n! Let him come, and he will soon find how ’tis protected. Hearts of oak are our ships, Jolly tars are our men, &c. &c.’ Napoleon, throttled by the rope, exclaims: ‘If these fellows did not keep such a tight hand over me, I would soon try how that Ornament would fit my head.’ Whilst the sailor, who has him in hand and checks his advance, calls out: ‘Avast there, my little fellow; for, D—n my Timbers, if I don’t take you Aback before you reach the end of your Intended travels. So pull away, pull away, I say, for the tight little bit of land in the Ocean.’
There is a charming libel on Napoleon in a periodical publication, called ‘Ring the Alarum Bell,’ No. 3, August 27, 1803 (I believe it only reached four numbers), the heading of which is, ‘Atrocities of Brutus Napoleone Ali Buonaparté, who now pretends to be at war for restoring the Knights of Malta, and who told the Egyptians’ (July 1798), ‘that he was a true Mussulman, and had been to Malta, on purpose to drive from thence those Christian Infidels, the Knights!!!’
After a most scurrilous and incorrect version of his life, this precious paper gives us a thrilling account of ‘The Corsican’s Drowning his own wounded Soldiers, and his Thievery.
‘During the early engagements at Mantua with General Wurmsur, the hospital for the French who were wounded was at Como. Some officers, who are ready to swear to the truth of their assertion, passing through this town in the month of April 1800, were informed by the inhabitants that one morning they beheld, with unspeakable horror, the dead bodies of a number of French soldiers floating upon the surface of the lake, whom this infamous assassin, Buonaparté, had ordered to be cast into it on the preceding night. Every one of these unfortunate wretches were soldiers who had suffered amputation of some member or other! This monster caused, at the same time, not only the dead, but even the sick, in the hospitals to be thrown pell-mell into a ditch at Salo, on the Lake of Guarda. It is a fact, well-known in Upper Italy, that the Curate of Salo died with grief at the sight of this horrible transaction.
‘The pecuniary robberies of the Corsican are innumerable. At Leghorn he caused a servant of the Grand Duke to bring him all the plate belonging to that Prince, and kept himself an inventory, in order to examine whether any article was missing. At Pisa a British nobleman (the Marquis of D——) was robbed of his carriage, and other effects, by a party of French Hussars. Buonaparte appropriated the carriage to himself, and afterwards made use of it at Milan. France was then in a state of profound peace with the Grand Duke. At Milan, Buonaparte imprisoned the Nobles, and, in order to procure their release, their consorts brought their diamonds to the wife of the Usurper.’