But take care, Master Nap, you meet with no trap,
To poke either leg or your head in;
Loss of legs stops your flight, lose your head, why the sight
Will be welcome at Miss Platoff’s[27] wedding.
In a sledge it is said, this King was convey’d,
Like a criminal back into France;
But his Army and Friends, to make them amends,
He gave them a precious cold dance.
The frost kill’d one half, the rest Kutusoff
Kill’d, or prisoners made in their flight;
Thus the Russians did beat Nap and Friends so compleat,
That no Armies e’er suffered such plight.
Now this madman, ’tis said, has ta’en in his head
To attempt at another Campaign,
With but half of his friends, yet still he intends
To venture to Moscow again.
But if Nap, and Ten more, were beaten before,
By raw Russian troops single handed;
With what chance can he hope against Russia to cope,
When their force with Allies is extended?
No, No, Master Nap, you’ll not feather your cap
Any more, for your race is near run;
And your murderous heart, is destined, Bonaparte,
To suffer for crimes it has done.
Then ye Nations whose voice through fear, not from choice,
To this tyrant its homage has paid,
Join the brave Russian throng, that your miseries ere long
May with Nap in Oblivion be laid.