’Twas thus he strove to sap the throne.
With borrow’d arts and weapons not his own,
While Gallia clapp’d her hands, and hail’d her favourite child.
And longer had he sung—but, strange to say,
Wakefield, the dragon-fly, rush’d on;
Eager he sought the bold rebellious fray,
And burst with anger and disdain
The web of sophistry in twain
Which Godwin, patient sage! had spread
To catch the fluttering insects of the land.