Then look’d our manager, I trow,
Like one in doleful dumps;
His pride was humbled to a bow,
Almost upon his stumps.
As thus he said—“At length I yield,
“You’ve got what you have wish’d;
“You’ve won, John Bull, you’ve won the field,
“And so—the cat is dish’d!”
God save the King, and bless the land,
Our liberties and laws,