Stood to gaze on the spot—while some Jacobin nigh,
Mutter’d out with a shrug (what an insolent thing!)
‘Ma foi, he be right—’tis de Englishman’s King;
And dat gros pied de cochon—begar, me vil say
Dat de foot look mosh better, if turn’d toder way.’
Mr. Phil. Fudge, in his dreams, thinks of a plan for changing heads.
Good Viscount S—dm—th, too, instead
Of his own grave, respected head,
Might wear (for aught I see that bars)
Old Lady Wilhelmina Frump’s—