University of Virginia Library

Le Diplomat, ecstatic fate
Of the fifth cousins of the great:
Blest with a pound a-day for life,
To lacquey Monsieur L'Envoy's wife—
Teach French and figures to the daughters,
See that they swallow their Spa-waters;
Prepared to answer every question
Touching your “sweet eleve's” digestion;
Take passport-pictures of the mob,
Who ramble to be robb'd, or rob;
The length of chin, the tint of nose,
The holes in breeches, and in hose.
Scribble the rout and dinner packs,
Lock up the royal pounce and wax;
Echo his Excellency's jest,
Mend your own stockings like the rest;
Dine how and where il plait aux cieux,
Battle his mongrel household crew;
Cook up his cotelette at a spirt,
Air mi Lor's newspaper and shirt,
Feel laugh'd at by the luckier fribbles,
Till life between your fingers dribbles;
Condemn'd, till its last sands are roll'd,
To fold and frank, and frank and fold;
And envying every wretch in fetters,
Die as you've lived—a man of letters.
May I be doom'd to all: or worse,
Meet Gr*sv*nor without length of purse;
Without a peerage cross thy way,
Patrician of patricians—Gr*y.
Or take on winter days thy hand,
Grim king of kelp, coals, salt, and sand.
Or hear stern G*nv*lle from his chair,
Lash the low time-servers that were;
The slaves, that when their master's bank
Was cashless, with him feebly sank.
Unlike the generous friend of Pitt,
Who scorn'd his ancient Bench to quit,
Through patriot, pure distrust of Fox;
Still grasp'd the nation's money-box,
Stared vulgar scoffers in the face,
And kept his principles—and place.
May I be shot! nay sent to singe a
Conscience and cuticle in India;
Dispute Sir James's dinner dictum,
To die of Scotch and snuff the victim;
Turn from Mt. Ch*rl*s's rosiest oscolo;
Sit out a mortal hour of F*sc*lo,
(With all the prosing post and ante
That prosers ever prosed of Dante)
Nay, be thy rival, Signor Torri—
Ere make a woman sad or sorry!