Then blythe the waiter assured me that through Chamouny, the splendour
Of Warren’s name beamed joy, as the snow on the summit of Jura,
Tinged by the occident ray, sheds glory and gladness around it,
While villages bask in its smiles:—meantime I continued my Carmen,—
Thrice honoured artist, who hast a minstrel like me to commend thee!
Year upon year may roll, but you never will get such another;
For I am the bard of time, the puffer of peer or of peasant,
Whether Russ, German, or French, Whig, Radical, Ultra, or Tory,
Provided my sack-butt is paid with a butt of sack for each bouncer
Hence, nobles are proud to bow to my laurelled head at Saint James’s,