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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.

207

No Brutal Coward Tyrant Algerien
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.