 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
IX.
V--- our new Troy's Hector, and it's hope,Preferr'd from Tail of Coach to Head of Troop;
'Twas no true Valour got him first a Name,
But some Welsh Fury did his Blood inflame,
And sure he never fought when he was tane.
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E're healed Slaves so ill as his have been;
As if to him Authority were new,
It is but damn the Rascal, and a Blow.
For they so oft false Musters we observe,
Rather than follow him the Rogues will starve;
And wou'd, if e're indeed there came a War
Be justly shot like wry-neck'd Chevalier,
By some of his own Soldiers in the Reer.
But V---n's not alone, more of his stamp,
That better merit Tyburn, rule the Camp.
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