The Gentleman's Magazine, LXXVII (August 1807), p. 756
From Tilsit have you heard the news
Of a confounded racket,
Where the Great Bear durst not refuse
To wear the Fidler's jacket?
A Corsican Usurper base,
A conqueror, yet a donor,
Diffus'd insignia of disgrace
And badges of dishonour.
This Conjurer play'd such a tune
As set mad Europe dancing;
And in the august month of June
Set many monarchs prancing.
Thus to the Fair with speed they went,
And all got drunk together;
A motley crew that evening spent,
All ty'd like sticks in tether.
There crouch'd around the servile tree
Queens, Emperors, and Kings,
With slaves of every degree,
Quell'd sycophantic things.
Oh Europe, where is now thy blush?
Must Nations thus depart?
Must all fall, like a broken rush,
To base-born Buonapart?
No! Britain's Empire's on the Sea
Begirt by rocks and waves;
Ships are her walls, her people free,
And never will be slaves.