They fly, the braggarts of the Court, the bullies
of the Rhine:
Stout Langley's cheer is heard no more, and
Astley's helm is down,
And Rupert sheathes his rapier with a curse and
with a frown;
And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in
the flight,
"The German boar had better far have supped
in York to-night.''