I, Herbert Stockhore, once more,
In spite of age and pains rheumatic,
Hop down to “Montem” with verses Attic,
To make the Muse as have done before.
For why should I lie a-bed groaning and bickering
When I ought to be up to sing Captain Pickering.
A happier effort, perhaps, was his greeting to George III.:—
And now we’ll sing
God save the king,
And send him long to reign,