Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/547

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WATERLOO.
529
v.
So Buonaparte pitched his tent
 That day in Grosvenor Place;
And Ney rode straight to Parliament,
 And broke the Speaker's mace.
"Vive L'Empereur," was said and sung,
 From Peebles to Penzance;
The Mayor and Aidermen were hung,
 Which made folks laugh in France.

vi.
They pulled the Tower of London down;
 They burned our wooden walls;
They brought his Holiness to town,
 And lodged him in St. Paul's.
And God and Magog rubbed their eyes,
 Awaking from a trance;
And grumbled out, in great surprise,
 "O mercy! we're in France!"

vii.
They sent a Regent to our Isle,—
 The little King of Rome;
And squibs and crackers all the while
 Blazed in the Place Vendôme.
And ever since, in arts and power
 They're making great advance;
They've had strong beer from that glad hour,
 And sea-coal fires in France.

viii.
My uncle, Captain Flanigan,
 Who lost a leg in Spain,
Tells stories of a little man,
 Who died in St. Hélène.
But bless my heart! they can't be true,
 I'm sure they're all romance;
John Bull was beat at Waterloo—
 They'll swear to that in France!

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