“A plucky chap this here,!” they shout around,
And dabs of mud against the van rebound.
With lengthened ears
Young Reynolds hears,
And thinks, with joy,
“Yes I’m the boy
That means to shake the spheres.!”
Praise of the French he next in glowing accents sung—
French Freedom—very fair, but very young.
But a poor baker’s cart there comes: