 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
LETTER TO HIS GRANDFATHER 11 AUGUST 1801
Dear Grandfather,
I have long been in hopes once more Chertsey to view,
Which at present, indeed, we can't very well do;
Therefore, being this morning a little at leisure,
I take up the pen to address you with pleasure.
Which at present, indeed, we can't very well do;
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I take up the pen to address you with pleasure.
When of late Spanish batt'ries a vict'ry obtain'd,
Which the French proudly boasted their squadron had gain'd,
They spread over France a most wonderful story,
Declaring their Navy was “cover'd with glory!”
“To the Temple of Fame they should quickly advance,
Through the valorous deeds of the sailors of France!”
But when gallant Saumarez once more drew nigh,
These laurel-crown'd heroes thought proper to fly
They spread all their canvass (magnanimous elves!)
To let the poor Dons fight it out by themselves!
And like true Gallic tars, to whom fear was a stranger,
They—fled from their friends at the moment of danger!
“Vhat! fight de Jack Tar vhen no batt'ries are near,
Dey vould send us avay vid de flea in our ear!”—
Which the French proudly boasted their squadron had gain'd,
They spread over France a most wonderful story,
Declaring their Navy was “cover'd with glory!”
“To the Temple of Fame they should quickly advance,
Through the valorous deeds of the sailors of France!”
But when gallant Saumarez once more drew nigh,
These laurel-crown'd heroes thought proper to fly
They spread all their canvass (magnanimous elves!)
To let the poor Dons fight it out by themselves!
And like true Gallic tars, to whom fear was a stranger,
They—fled from their friends at the moment of danger!
“Vhat! fight de Jack Tar vhen no batt'ries are near,
Dey vould send us avay vid de flea in our ear!”—
How mad and how vain is their boasting opinion,
They could wrest from old England her naval dominion!
The standards of Britain o'er Ocean unfurl'd,
At once the dismay and delight of the world,
Of the darlings of Neptune the triumphs proclaim,
And fill Gallia's proud thousands with terror and shame.
There is one thing indeed, it has always been held,
In which British sailors by French are excell'd;
Their skill in this instance their valorous fleet
Never fail to display when our squadrons they meet;
And Justice must surely compell us to say,
They are far our superiors in—running away!!!
This art the Great Nation takes so much delight in,
Their vessels seem built more for sailing than fighting;
And amongst their fam'd heroes 'tis always confest,
Those ships which fly fastest are reckon'd the best!
They could wrest from old England her naval dominion!
The standards of Britain o'er Ocean unfurl'd,
At once the dismay and delight of the world,
Of the darlings of Neptune the triumphs proclaim,
And fill Gallia's proud thousands with terror and shame.
There is one thing indeed, it has always been held,
In which British sailors by French are excell'd;
Their skill in this instance their valorous fleet
Never fail to display when our squadrons they meet;
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They are far our superiors in—running away!!!
This art the Great Nation takes so much delight in,
Their vessels seem built more for sailing than fighting;
And amongst their fam'd heroes 'tis always confest,
Those ships which fly fastest are reckon'd the best!
In old women and nurses alarm to occasion,
They have started again the old bug-bear Invasion;
But the folly of this our brave Nelson has shewn,
By his glorious attack on the port of Boulogne:
Invade us, indeed! All their threats are in vain
Whilst the sons of Britannia are Kings of the Main:
From these soup-maigre boasters we've little to dread,
Whilst our tars by such heroes as Nelson are led;
Whilst those truly-brave tars scorn from Frenchmen to fly,
And nobly determine to conquer or die!
They have started again the old bug-bear Invasion;
But the folly of this our brave Nelson has shewn,
By his glorious attack on the port of Boulogne:
Invade us, indeed! All their threats are in vain
Whilst the sons of Britannia are Kings of the Main:
From these soup-maigre boasters we've little to dread,
Whilst our tars by such heroes as Nelson are led;
Whilst those truly-brave tars scorn from Frenchmen to fly,
And nobly determine to conquer or die!
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |