THE DEVIL AND THE CONSUL.
A New Song.
As the Devil thro’ Paris one Day took a Walk,
Buonaparte he met,—and they both had some Talk;
Great Hero, says Satan, pray how do you do?
I am well, cried the Consul, my Service to you.
Derry down, down, down, derry down!
What News do you bring from your Empire below,
How is Oliver Cromwell? But very so, so!
I fancy he envies your glories so great;
For he vows he ne’er reigned in such Splendor and State—
Derry down, &c.
Tho’ he often exerted himself in my Cause,
Still Britons from him, had some excellent Laws;
How much below yours all his Merits must fall,
Who rules this Republic without Laws at all!!!
Derry down, &c.
Alexander, and Cæsar, fine Heroes in Story,
Are jealous, I know, of your Deeds, and your Glory;
Tho’ they push’d thro’ the Globe all their Conquests pell mell,
And rul’d Monarchs on Earth, now they’re Subjects in Hell.
Derry down, &c.
’Bout Religion at Rome you once made a great Pother,
Have pulled down one Pope, and then set up another!
In Egypt I’ve heard of your wonderful Works,
How Mahomet you worshipp’d, to flatter the Turks!
Derry down, &c.
The Deeds you there acted with Poison and Ire,
On my Realms are recorded in Letters of Fire;
Not an Imp in my Service, but boasts of your Fame,
And ‘grins, horribly’ grins—when he mentions your name.
Derry down, &c.
You boast much, dear Consul, of Liberty’s Tree,
You say that the Dutch and the Swiss are quite free!
If such Freedom as this to give Britain’s your aim,
Try your skill, that I soon to yourself may lay claim!
Derry down, &c.
When the Time shall arrive that’s determin’d by Fate—
That you quit for Invasion your Consular Seat;
Fear not—if bold Britons should prove your o’erthrow,
You’re sure of a Seat in my Kingdom below!
Derry down, &c.