English Caricature and Satire on Napoleon I. Volume I (of 2)

Imprimis

To our most beloved, and dearest Ibrahim Rostan, Mameluke, we give and bequeath after our decease, the crown of Henry IV., the sceptre of Saint Louis, and the throne of France and Navarre, the sovereignty and sovereign disposal of the lives and fortunes of thirty millions of Frenchmen, of six millions of Italians, of seven millions of Spaniards, of two millions of Helvetians, and of three millions of Batavians, (except as is hereafter excepted) and we enjoin and charge all the world to acknowledge, adore, and respect this Mameluke, Ibrahim Rostan, the African, as the natural and legal successor of us, Brutus Aly Napoleon Bonaparte, the Corsican.

We give and bequeath in reversion, to Citizen Barras, our dear Consort, much improved, and more enriched, but reserving to ourselves the disposal of her virtuous Maids of Honour, whom we give and bequeath to our Legion of Honour, as a reward due as well to the virtues of the one, as to the valour of the other.

We give and bequeath to our dearly beloved brother Joseph, the presidency of the Italian Republic, together with our dearly bought Minister Talleyrand, to be disposed of as his own property, in all future negociations.

To our dearly beloved brother Lucien, we give and bequeath our Batavian Republic, and our Minister Chaptal, who, hereafter, shall write his speeches, dictate his letters, and correct his spelling.

To our dearly beloved brother Louis, we bequeath our Helvetian Republic, and our Minister Berthier, accompanied with the sense of his Secretary Achambau, whose instructions, in some time, may enable him to become a good Corporal of Grenadiers.

To our dearly beloved brother Jerome, we bequeath, in petto, the sovereignty of the seas, with our minister of Marine, and all the admirals of our navy, doubting, however, if their united efforts will make him a good midshipman.

To our dearly beloved Mother, we give and bequeath his Holiness, the Pope, and our uncle, Cardinal Frere78; with a Pope, and a Cardinal, in her possession, her stay in purgatory must be short, and in Heaven long.

To our dearly beloved sisters, Mistresses Bacchiocchi, Murat, Santa Cruce, and Le Clerc, we give and bequeath our family honours, chastity, modesty, and moderation.

To our dear son in law, Eugenius Beauharnais, we give and bequeath Parma and Plaisance,79 with our dear countryman Sebastiani, who will instruct him to drive like a coachman, and ride like a postillion.

To our much beloved daughter in law, Madame Fanny Beauharnais, as a reward for her loyalty, we bequeath a representation, in wax, of the scaffold of her father, and the throne of her mother, both designed by the revolutionary modellers, Barras & Co.

To our dear uncle, Cardinal Frere,79 we give and bequeath the triple crown of St. Peter, in petto, and to all our nameless known and unknown relatives, we give and bequeath the kingdom of Etruria, to be disposed of to the highest bidder, and its value laid out in mourning rings, to be equally distributed amongst them, and certain Continental Princes hereinafter mentioned.

We give and bequeath to our dear friend the King of Spain, an Etrurian mourning ring, and four family pictures, representing the Bourbons dethroned, the Bourbons degraded, the Bourbons repenting, and the Bourbons forgiven.

We give and bequeath to the King of Naples, three marble statues, after a model by his Queen, representing Faith, Loyalty, and Constancy; and to the Kings of Sardinia, we bequeath our promises of honour, to be equally divided between them.

We give and bequeath to his Holiness the Pope, the doctrines of the Goddess of Reason, the Alcoran of Mahomet, and the atheism of our Institute; all true relics; besides, to himself, his successors, and College of Cardinals, we bequeath concordant mourning rings, from the manufactory of our Counsellor of State Portalis.80

We give and bequeath to his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Germany, two drawings, representing Hope amongst the ruins of Turkey, and Desire contemplating Bavaria, designed by Citizen Dupe, and sold by Citizen Plot.

We give and bequeath to his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Russia, three pictures, representing Louis XVI. upon the Throne, Louis XVI. in the Temple, and Louis XVI. upon the Scaffold; by Citizens Loyalty, Monarchy, and Warning.

We give and bequeath to our dearest friend the King of Prussia, the landscape of Hanover, with the Imperial Crown in perspective, by Citizens Royalty, Jacobin, and Rebel.

We give and bequeath to our natural Ally the Emperor of the Turkish Empire, the description of our Conquests of Egypt, our flight from Egypt, and our future return to Egypt, by Citizens Treachery, Cowardice, and Design.

We give and bequeath to his Majesty the King of the United Kingdoms of Great Britain, and Ireland, the United Navy of Holland and France, commanded by Citizen Envy, mann’d by Citizen Coalition, and lost by Citizen Invasion.

We give and bequeath to his Majesty the King of Sweden, the French original representation of the assassination of Gustavus III. to remind him of vengeance, honour and duty.

We give to our dear friend the King of Denmark, an original painting, of the insults, torments, and death, of his Queen Caroline Matilda; designed and executed by two celebrated French artists, Citizens Intrigue and Crime.

We give and bequeath to the Regent of Portugal, a Code of our Revolutionary Laws of Nations, and a chapter of the Rebel Etiquette of Grenadier Ambassadors, explained and illustrated by Citizens Sans Culottes, Rudeness, and Impudence.

We give and bequeath to our friend the Elector of Bavaria the Bible of the Theophilanthropes, and the Concordat of Portalis, as an assistance to his patriotic illuminated ministers, in their political reformations, and religious innovations.

We give and bequeath to our chosen Grand Master of Malta, the Musical Opera of the Capture of Malta, performed in 1798 with a Concerto by Citizen Treason, and in 1800 with a Bravura, by Citizen Valour, with the farcical afterpiece of the Recapture, performed at Amiens, by Citizens Fraud and Treaty.

To all other Continental Sovereigns, who have accepted more or less of our bountiful indemnities, we give and bequeath our mourning rings of honour; and to all other ambassadors, ministers, agents, and deputies, who have negociated, intrigued, bribed, or begged indemnities, we give and bequeath, with our consciences of honour, the revolutionary principles of Necker, the ex-minister, the probity, and disinterestedness of Talleyrand, our minister, and the honour and virtue of Fouché our senator, to be equally divided amongst them, share and share alike.

We give and bequeath to all Sovereigns upon earth, who have acknowledged our Corsican Kingdom of Etruria, and to their ministers and counsellors, Iron mourning rings, from the axe of the Guillotine, of the Luneville manufactory, bearing the following inscription, ‘Monarchy degraded, and Monarchy dishonoured, Feb. 1801.’81

We give and bequeath to the Citizens of the Republics in Italy, Switzerland, and Holland, our Corsican Mourning rings, with an inscription, ‘Liberty lost, 1801, and unrevenged, 1803.’

N.B. – We give and bequeath to the Citizens of the United States of America, the funeral speeches on the tombs of the Liberty of France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, and Holland, translated and published by Citizen Plot, in Louisiana.

To all our Senators, Legislators, Tribunes, Counsellors, Ministers, Generals, Cardinals, Bishops, Prefects, &c., &c., &c., and to all other of our Slaves of every denomination and description, whether Rebel, Royalist, or Regicide Jacobins; either Traitors, Apostates, Murderers, or Plunderers, we give and bequeath the Cannon of St. Napoleon, the dagger of St. Brutus, the poison of St. Aly, the Guillotine of St. Robespierre, and the halter of St. Judas; all true relics, to be equally divided amongst them.

We give and bequeath to the Manes of all the Citizens butchered by us at Toulon, murdered by us at Paris, and poisoned by us in Egypt; our confession to our Cardinal Bishop at Paris, and our absolution from his Holiness the Pope.

We command, and desire most earnestly, not to be buried in any Church or Church-yard, in any mosque or pantheon, but in the common sewer of Montmartre, where the corses of our worthy predecessors, Marat and Robespierre, were deposited; but for the quiet of our soul, we do order, and put into requisition, La Revalliere, high priest to the Goddess of Reason, Mercier, the atheist of the Institute, Amarat, the mufti of Constantinople, and Pius the Pope of Rome, to say prayers over our tomb, and to read ‘Domine salvum fac Consulem,’ sic transit Gloria mundi!

Lastly, to Louis the XVIII. commonly called the Pretender, and to all Princes of the House of Bourbon, their heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, we give and bequeath our everlasting hate; and it is our further will and pleasure, that, if any potentate or power, shall harbour the said Louis XVIII. or any of the said princes, such harbouring shall be a good cause of war; and the potentate and power guilty of such humanity, and hospitality, shall be punished by a Coalition of Powers as a violater of the law of nations, and contrary to the rights of man.

In Witness whereof, we have hereunto set our hand and seal the 25th day of Prairial, (14 June, 1803) in the eleventh year of the French Republic, one and indivisible.

Brutus Aly Napoleon Bonaparte.

As a specimen of the bombast of the time, we may take the subjoined illustration of what our Tars would do with Napoleon.

CHAPTER XXXII

INVASION SQUIBS, continued– ‘BRITONS TO ARMS’ – BRAGGADOCIO – NAPOLEON’S EPITAPH

A most ghastly picture, which should not be called a caricature, yet is meant so to be, is by Gillray (July 26, 1803), and is called ‘Buonaparte forty-eight Hours after Landing!’ A crowd of rural volunteers are assembled, and one of them hoists the head of Napoleon upon a pitchfork, calling out ‘Ha, my little Boney! what do’st think of Johnny Bull, now? Plunder Old England! hay? make French slaves of us all! hay? ravish all our Wives and Daughters! hay? O Lord, help that silly Head! To think that Johnny Bull would ever suffer those lanthorn Jaws to become King of Old England Roast Beef and Plum pudding.’ Whilst on the top of the engraving is inscribed, ‘This is to give information for the benefit of all Jacobin Adventurers, that Policies are now open’d at Lloyd’s – where the depositer of One Guinea is entitled to a Hundred if the Corsican Cut throat is alive 48 Hours after Landing on the British Coast.’

Ansell also takes up this gruesome subject (August 6, 1803) in ‘After the Invasion. The Levée en Masse, or Britons Strike Home.’ The French have landed, but have been thoroughly defeated; the British soldiers driving them bodily over the cliffs, into the sea. The women are plundering the dead, but complain bitterly of the poverty of their spoil. ‘Why, this is poor finding, I have emptied the pockets of a score and only found garlic, one head of an onion, and a parcel of pill boxes.’ A rural volunteer, who has Bonaparte’s head on a pitchfork, addresses two comrades thus: ‘Here he is exalted, my Lads, 24 Hours after Landing.’ Says one of the countrymen, ‘Why, Harkee, d’ye zee, I never liked soldiering afore, but, somehow or other, when I thought of our Sal, the bearns, the poor Cows, and the Geese, why I could have killed the whole Army, my own self.’ The other remarks, ‘Dang my Buttons if that beant the head of that Rogue Boney – I told our Squire this morning, What do you think, says I, the lads of our Village can’t cut up a Regiment of them French Mounseers? and, as soon as the Lasses had given us a Kiss for good luck, I could have sworn we should do it, and so we have.’

Of loyal and patriotic songs, there are enough and to spare, but one was very popular, and therefore should be reproduced: —

BRITONS TO ARMS!!!Written by Wm. Thos. Fitzgerald, Esqr.,And Recited by him at the Annual Meeting of theLiterary Fund, at Greenwich14 July, 1803Britons to Arms! – of apathy beware,And let your Country be your dearest care;Protect your Altars! guard your Monarch’s throne,The Cause of George and Freedom, make your own!What! shall that England want her Sons’ support,Whose Heroes fought at Cressy – Agincourt?And when great Marlborough led the English Van,In France, o’er Frenchmen triumphed to a man!By Alfred’s great, and ever honoured, Name!By Edward’s prowess, and by Henry’s fame!By all the generous Blood for Freedom shed,And by the Ashes of the Patriot Dead!By the bright Glory Britons lately won,On Egypt’s Plains, beneath the burning Sun!Britons to Arms! defend your Country’s Cause,Fight for your King! your Liberties; and Laws!Be France defied, her slavish yoke abhor’d,And place your safety only on your Sword.The Gallic Despot, sworn your mortal Foe,Now aims his last, – but his most deadly blow;With England’s Plunder tempts his hungry Slaves,And dares to brave you, on your Native Waves!If Briton’s right be worth a Briton’s care,To shield them from the Son of Rapine – swear!Then to Invasion be defiance giv’n —Your Cause is just – approv’d by Earth and Heaven.Should adverse winds our gallant Fleet restrain,To sweep his ‘bawbling82 vessels’ from the main;And Fate permit him on our Shores t’advance —The Tyrant never shall return to France;Fortune, herself, shall be no more his friend,And here the Hist’ry of his Crimes shall end —His slaughter’d Legions shall manure our shore,And England never know Invasion more.

This was the stilted sort of stuff given to our forefathers, to inflame their patriotic zeal, and this example is of good quality compared to most. Here is another one, which I give, as having the music, published July 30, 1803: —

BRITONS TO ARMS!

Cheerly my hearts of cour – age true, The hour’s at hand totry your worth; a glo – rious pe – ril waits for you, Andval – our pants to lead you forth. The Gal – lic fleet ap -– proaches nigh, boys, Now some must conquer, some must die, boys; Butthat ap – pals not you nor me, For our watchword,it shall be: Brit – ons strike home, re- venge your coun-try’swrongs, Brit-ons strike home, re – venge your country’s wrongs.2Undaunted Britons now shall proveThe Frenchman’s folly to invadeOur dearest rights, our country’s love,Our laws, our freedom, and our trade;On our white cliffs our colours fly, boys;Which we’ll defend, or bravely die, boys;For we are Britons bold and free,And our watchword it shall beBritons strike home, &c.3The Tyrant Consul, then too late,Dismayed shall mourn th’ avenging blowYet vanquish’d, meet the milder fateWhich mercy grants a fallen foe:Thus shall the British banners fly, boys,On Albion’s cliffs still rais’d on high, boys,And while the gallant flag we see,We’ll swear our watchword still shall beBritons strike home, &c.

About the last caricature in this month was by I. Cruikshank, who depicted Napoleon (July 28, 1803) as ‘Preparing to invade.’ He is pouring himself out a bumper, and soliloquising, ‘I must take a little Dutch Courage, for I am sure I shall never attempt it in my sober senses! Besides, when John Bull catches me, I can plead it was only a Drunken Frolick! Diable! if I not go, den all my Soldiers call me one Braggadocio, and one Coward, and if I do, begor, dey vil shew me in the Tower, as one very Great Wild Beast.’

I. Cruikshank (July 28, 1803) tells us ‘How to stop an invader.’ Napoleon, and his army, are represented as having landed, and he is asking ‘Which is the way to London?’ A countryman replies, giving emphasis to his words by driving his pitchfork deeply into the Consul’s breast, ‘Why, thro’ my Body – but I’se be thro’ yourn virst.’ His wife, as a type of what was expected of the women of England, is emptying the offensive contents of a domestic utensil over him. Bulldogs are let loose, and are rapidly making an end of their enemies, in which laudable enterprise they are materially assisted by prize-fighters and carters.

The month of August was very fruitful in caricature, for in that month, and in September, the Invasion scare was at its height.

There was an immense amount of Gasconading and Braggadocio going about, as senseless as it was improbable. Take this for example: ‘The Consequence of Invasion, or the Hero’s Reward. None but the brave deserve the fair. The Yeomanry Cavalry’s first Essay’ (Ansell, August 1, 1803). A stout yeoman is swaggering about, with his sword drawn, and carrying a pole, on the top of which is Bonaparte’s head, and, lower down, he grasps some fifteen or twenty bleeding heads of decapitated Frenchmen. He is saying, ‘There, you Rogues, there! there’s the Boney parts of them. Twenty more; Killed them!! Twenty more; Killed them too!! I have destroyed half the army with this same Toledo.’ Women from all parts are coming to hug and caress him, saying, ‘Bless the Warrior that saved our Virgin Charms.’ ‘Ah! bless him, he has saved us from Death and Vileation.’ ‘Take care, I’ll smother him with kisses.’ One lady says to a man, not a Volunteer: ‘There you Poltroon look how that Noble Hero’s caressed!’ whilst the poor wretch thus addressed exclaims, ‘Ods Niggins, I wish I had been a Soldier too, then the Girls would have run after me, but I never could bear the smell of Gunpowder.’

‘John Bull offering Little Boney fair play’ is the title of one of Gillray’s pictures (August 2, 1803), and depicts the fortified coasts on both sides of the Channel, with John Bull, as a Jack Tar, stripped to the waist for action. He wades half across to hurl defiance at his foe. ‘You’re a coming? You be d – d! If you mean to invade us, why make such a rout? I say little Boney, why don’t you come out? yes, d – n ye, why don’t ye come out?’ Meanwhile Boney, secure in his fortress, and with his flotilla safe on shore, looks over the parapet, and says, ‘I’m a coming! I’m a coming!!!’

His epitaph was even obligingly written for him during his lifetime, and here it is: —

EPITAPH Underneath a Gibbet, over a Dunghill near Hastings, close by the Sea BeachUnderneath this DunghillIs all that remains of a mighty Conqueror,NAPOLEON BUONAPARTEWho, with inflexible Cruelty of Heart,And unexampled depravity of Mind,Was permitted to scourge the Earth, for a Time,With all the Horrors of War:Too ignorant, and incapable, to do good to Mankind,The whole Force of his Mind was employedIn oppressing the Weak, and plundering the Industrious:He was equally detested by all;His enemies he butchered in cold Blood;And fearing to leave incomplete the Catalogue of his Crimes,His friends he rewarded with a poison’d ChaliceHe was an EpitomeOf all that was vicious in the worst of Tyrants;He possess’d their Cruelty, without their Talents;Their Madness, without their Genius;The Baseness of one, and the Imbecility of anotherProvidence, at last,Wearied out with his Crimes,Returned him to the Dunghill from which he sprung;After having held him forthOn the neighbouring Gibbet,As a Scare-crow to the Invaders of the British CoastThis Beach,The only Spot in our Isle polluted by his footsteps;This DunghillAll that remains to him of his boasted ConquestBriton!Ere you pass byKneel and thank thy God,For all the Blessings of thy glorious Constitution;Then return unto the peaceful Bosom of thy Family, and continueIn the Practice of those Virtues,By which thy AncestorsMerited the Favor of the Almighty

I. Cruikshank, in ‘Johnny Bull giving Boney a Pull’ (August 7, 1803), brought out a caricature in which is graphically depicted the total annihilation of the French flotilla, and John Bull is dragging Napoleon, by a cord round his neck, to a gallows, surrounded by people waving their hats in token of joy. Napoleon, not unnaturally, hangs back, remarking, ‘Ah! Misericordi! Ah! Misericordi! Jean Bool, Jean Bool, hanging not good for Frenchmen.’ But John pulls along manfully, exclaiming, ‘I shant measure the Cord, you F – . I am sure it is long enough for a dozen such Fellows as you.’

A picture by West (August 8, 1803), ‘Resolutions in case of an Invasion,’ is divided into six compartments. A tailor, with his shears, says, ‘I’ll trim his skirts for him.’ A barber, ‘I’ll lather his wiskers.’ An apothecary, with a pestle and mortar, ‘I’ll pound him.’ A cobbler, ‘I’ll strap his Jacket.’ A publican, ‘I’ll cool his Courage in a pot of Brown Stout.’ An epicure, ‘I’ll eat him.’

The punishment, for any attempt at invasion, was prophesied as being his certain downfall, and a nameless artist (August 12, 1803) produced an engraving of ‘A rash attempt, and woful downfall’ – Bonaparte snatching at the British Crown.

But as he climb’d to grasp the Crown,She knock’d him with the Scepter down,He tumbled in the Gulph profound,There doom’d to whirl an endless Round.

Britannia is represented as standing on a cliff, with a crown upraised in her left hand, and a sceptre in her right. Napoleon is shewn as tumbling into the infernal regions, to the great joy of attendant demons.

‘Observations upon Stilts’ is by an unknown artist (August 12, 1803), and represents Bonaparte upon a huge pair of stilts. He is looking, over to England, through a telescope, and is saying, ‘How very diminutive everything appears from this astonishing elevation. Who is that little man, I wonder, on the Island, the other side the ditch? he seems to be watching my motions.’ John Bull, the person referred to, is also using his telescope, exclaiming, ‘Why surely that can’t be Bonny, perch’d up in that manner. Rabbit him! if he puts one of his Poles across here, I’ll soon lighten his timbers.’

CHAPTER XXXIII

INVASION SQUIBS, continued– ‘HARLEQUIN INVASION’ – ‘BOB ROUSEM’S EPISTLE’ – NAPOLEON’S TOUR TO BELGIUM

‘Harlequin Invasion’ is by West (August 12, 1803). Napoleon is a Harlequin, and points with his wooden sword ‘Invincible’ to Great Britain, which is surrounded by goodly ships of war. Pantaloon, as the Pope, typifying Italy, lies dead, and Holland, dressed as a Pierrot, does not relish the command of his master, who tells him, ‘As Pantaloon is no more, I insist on your joining me to invade that little island.’ Poor Holland replies, ‘D – m me – if I do, Master – for I don’t like the look of their little ships – can’t you let me be at quiet – whisking me here, and there, and everywhere.’

1Ladies and Gentlemen, to dayWith scenes adapted to th’ occasionA Grand new Pantomime we play,Entitled – Harlequin’s Invasion.2No comic Pantomime beforeCould ever boast such tricks surprising;The Hero capers Europe o’er,But hush! behold the Curtain rising.3And first that little Isle survey,Where sleeps a Peasant boy, so hearty;That little Isle is Corsica,That peasant boy is Bonaparte.4Now lightnings flash and thunders roar,Dæmons of witchcraft hover o’er him;And rising thro’ the stage trap door,An evil genius stands before him.5His arms in solemn state are cross’d,His voice appalls th’ amaz’d beholders;His head in circling clouds is lost,And crimson pinions shade his shoulders.6Mortal, awake! the phantom cries,And burst the bonds of fear asunder!My name is Anarchy; arise!Thy future fortunes teem with wonder.7To spread my reign the earth around,Here take this sword, whose magic pow’r,Shall sense, and right, and wrong confound,And work new wonders ev’ry hour.8Throw off that peasant garb, beginT’ assume the party colour’d rover,And, as a sprightly Harlequin,Trip, lightly trip, all Europe over.9He spoke, and instant to the viewBegins the curious transformation;His mask assumes a sable hue,His dress a pantomimic fashion.10Now round the Stage, in gaudy prideCapers the renovated varlet,Shakes the lath weapon at his side,And shines in blue, and white, and scarlet.11High on a rock, his cunning eyeSurveys half Europe at a glance;Fat Holland, fertile Italy,Old Spain, and gay, regenerate France.12He strikes, with wooden sword, the earth,Which heaves with motion necromantic;The nations own a second birth,And trace his steps with gestures antic.13The Pope prepares for war, but soonAll pow’rful Harlequin disarms him,And changing into Pantaloon,Each motion frets, each noise alarms him.14With trembling haste he seeks to joinHis daughter Gallia, lovely rover!But she, transform’d to Columbine,Her father scorns, and seeks her lover.15The Dutchman next his magic feels,Chang’d to the Clown, he hobbles after;Blund’ring pursues the light of heels,Convulsing friends and foes with laughter.16But all their various deeds of sin,What mortal man has ever reckon’d?The mischief plann’d by Harlequin,Fair Columbine is sure to second.17They quickly kill poor Pantaloon,And now our drama’s plot grows riper,When e’er they frisk it to some tune,The Clown is forc’d to pay the piper.18Each foreign land he dances through,In some new garb behold the Hero,Pagan and Christian, Turk and Jew,Cromwell, Caligula and Nero.19A Butcher, Harlequin appears,The rapid scene to Egypt flying,O’er captive Turks his steel up rears,The stage is strew’d with dead and dying.20Next by the crafty genius taught,Sportive he tries Sangrado’s trick,Presents a bowl, with poison fraught,And kills his own unconscious sick.21Hey pass! he’s back to Europe flown,His hostile foll’wers disappointed:Kicks five old women from the throne,And dubs himself the Lord’s Anointed.22In close embrace with Columbine,Pass, gaily pass, the flying hours;While prostrate at their blood stained Shrine,Low bow the European powers.23Touch’d by his sword, the morals fly,The virtues, into vices dwindling,Courage is turn’d to cruelty,And public faith, to private swindling.24With Atheist Bishops, Jockey Peers,His hurly burly Court is graced;Contractors, Brewers, Charioteers,Mad Lords, and Duchesses disgraced.25And now th’ Invasion scene comes on;The patch’d and pyeball’d renegado,Hurls at Britannia’s lofty throneFull many an Insolent bravado.26The trembling Clown dissuades in vainAnd finds too late, there’s no retreating,Whatever Harlequin may gain,The Clown is sure to have a beating.27They tempt the main, the canvas raise,A storm destroys his valiant legions;And lo! our closing scene displaysA grand view of th’ infernal regions.28Thus have we, gentlefolks, to day,With pains proportion’d to th’ occasion,Our piece perform’d: then further say,How like you Harlequin’s Invasion?BOB ROUSEM’SEPISTLE TOBONYPART

This comes hoping you are well, as I am at this present; but I say, Bony, what a damn’d Lubber you must be to think of getting soundings among us English. I tell ye as how your Anchor will never hold; it isn’t made of good Stuff, so luff up, Bony, or you’ll be fast aground before you know where you are. We don’t mind your Palaver and Nonsense; for tho’ ’tis all Wind, it would hardly fill the Stun’ sails of an English Man of War. You’ll never catch a Breeze to bring ye here as long as you live, depend upon it. I’ll give ye a Bit of Advice now; do try and Lie as near the Truth as possible, and don’t give us any more of your Clinchers. I say, do you remember how Nelson came round ye at the Nile? I tell ye what, if you don’t take Care what you are about, you’ll soon be afloat in a way you won’t like, in a High Sea, upon a Grating, my Boy, without a bit of soft Tommy to put into your lanthorn jaws. I tell you now, how we shall fill up the Log-Book if you come; I’ll give ye the Journal, my Boy, with an Allowance for Lee way and Variation that you don’t expect. Now then, at Five A.M. Bonypart’s Cock-Boats sent out to amuse our English Men-of-war with fighting, (that we like). Six A.M. Bonypart lands, (that is, if he can); then we begin to blow the Grampus; Seven A.M. Bonypart in a Pucker; Eight A.M. Bonypart running away; Nine A.M. Bonypart on board; Ten a.m. Bonypart sinking; Eleven a.m. Bonypart in Davy’s locker; Meridian, Bonypart in the North Corner of – , where it burns and freezes at the same time; but you know, any port in a storm, Bony, so there I’ll leave ye. Now you know what you have to expect; so you see you can’t say I didn’t tell ye. Come, I’ll give ye a Toast: Here’s Hard Breezes and Foul Weather to ye, my Boy, in your Passage; here’s May you be Sea Sick; we’ll soon make ye Sick of the Sea; Here’s, May you never have a Friend here, or a Bottle to give him. And to conclude: Here’s the French Flag where it ought to be, under the English.