Isabella spits at Spain,
Bomba strips and scourges Naples:
Are there not then where they reign
Addled eggs or rotten apples?

Treadmills, pillories, humbler stocks!
Ye repeat your lessons yet.
Halters, gibbets, axes, blocks!
Your old textbook ye forget.

Men have often heard the thunder
Roll at random; where, O where
Rolls it now? I smell it under
That fat priest in that foul chair.

Never was there poet wanting
Where the lapdog licks the throne;
Lauds and hymns we hear them chanting,
Shame if I were mute alone!

Let me then your deeds rehearse,
Gem of kings and flower of queens!
Though I may but trail a verse
Languider than Lamartine's.
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