Classic Poem

A Council was lately assembled at Marli,
Of war and of peace to debate and to parley:
The nymph Pompadour took the uppermost seat,
And Lewis the Gentle sat down at her feet.
There was hoary Belleisle , grave, solemn and slow,
Soubize the polite, and pert Richlieu the beau;
Silbouette , in resources of cash a dear jewel,
The wary Contades , the choleric Choiseuil:
In order to season this politic olio,
They added the pepper of hot-headed Broglio .
Old Nestor declar'd for a congress and peace,
And the hint was espous'd by Contades and Soubize:
Silbouette frankly own'd his budget exhausted:
But Choiseuil still rav'd, and Richlieu still boasted.
Said Lewis , “My Lords, we would willingly learn
What funds you can fix, or what prospects discern
For maintaining or bringing this war to conclusion,
So productive of misery, shame, and confusion.
Our commerce is ruin'd; our money is flown;
Our armies are routed; our settlements gone.
Our fleets have sustain'd a most terrible blow,
In the rout of Conflans , and the fate of Thurot:
Our troops will no longer their leaders obey,
When divested of cloathing, provision, and pay:
What motive, then say, will their courage excite,
Against those who have beat them so often, to fight?”
“A motive (cry'd Broglio ) I'd cherish with care:
Starv'd, naked, and beaten, they'll fight in despair.”