And his nose all turned up in his evident pride,
And his tail that seemed dressed with the stiffest of starch,
Stood out ’midst the trees, as it had on the Arch.
And there sat the rider, distorted and stern,
That long years of scoffing had failed to o’erturn,
And his hat was still cocked at the angle of yore,
And the same scrubby cape on his shoulders he wore.
And those that passed by gave one shuddering look,
And vowed such a Duke they no longer would brook.
They cried, “Take him off to some near melting-pot!”