That should have been spoken by the King of the Island of Britain to his Parliament
My lords, I can hardly from weeping refrain,
When I think of this year and its cursed campaign;[129]
But still it is folly to whine and to grieve,
For things will yet alter, I hope and believe.
Of the four southern States we again are bereav'd,
They were just in our grasp (or I'm sadly deceiv'd):
There are wizards and witches that dwell in those lands,
For the moment we gain them, they slip from our hands.
Our prospects at present most gloomy appear;
Cornwallis returns with a flea in his ear,
Sir Henry is sick of his station we know—
And Amherst, though press'd, is unwilling to go.
The Hero[130] that steer'd for the cape of Good Hope
With Monsieur Suffrein was unable to cope—
Many months are elaps'd, yet his task is to do—
To conquer the cape, and to conquer Peru:
When his squadron at Portsmouth he went to equip
He promis'd great things from his fifty-gun ship;
But let him alone—while he knows which is which,
He'll not be so ready "to die in a ditch."
This session, I thought to have told you thus much,
"A treaty concluded, and peace with the Dutch"—
But as stubborn as ever, they vapour and brag,
And sail by my nose with the Prussian flag.
The empress refuses to join on our side,
As yet with the Indians we're only ally'd:
(Though such an alliance is rather improper,
For we English are white, but their colour is copper.)
The Irish, I fear, have some mischief in view;
They ever have been a most troublesome crew—
If a truce or a treaty hereafter be made,
They shall pay very dear for their present free trade.
Dame Fortune, I think, has our standards forsaken,
For Tobago, they say, by Frenchmen is taken;
Minorca's besieg'd—and as for Gibraltar,
By Jove, if it's taken I'll take to the halter.