Now poses blandly in the festive chamber,
And speaks, when better taste should make him mute.
But I, that know not much of party tricks,
Nor how defeats seem through their looking-glass;
I, that have rudely stamped upon their majesty,
Nor failed to chase them oft from veld and drift;
I, though curtailed of all my realm’s proportions,
Cheated of fealty by their politic measures,
Dethroned, diminished, sent in double time
Into this uttermost bush, with peace made up