--nova monstra creavit.
OVID. "Metamorph." 1. i. v. 417.
Having sent off the troops of brave Major Camac,
With a swinging horse-tail at each valorous back.
And such helmets, God bless us! as never deckt any
Male creature before, except Signor Giovanni--
"Let's see," said the Regent (like Titus, perplext
With the duties of empire,) "whom shall I dress next?"
He looks in the glass--but perfection is there,
Wig, whiskers, and chin-tufts all right to a hair;
Not a single ex-curl on his forehead he traces--
For curls are like Ministers, strange as the case is,
The falser they are, the more firm in their places.
His coat he next views--but the coat who could doubt?
For his Yarmouth's own Frenchified hand cut it out;
Every pucker and seam were made matters of state,
And a Grand Household Council was held on each plait.
Then whom shall he dress? shall he new-rig his brother,
Great Cumberland's Duke, with some kickshaw or other?
And kindly invent him more Christianlike shapes
For his feather-bed neckcloths and pillory capes.
Ah! no--here his ardor would meet with delays,
For the Duke had been lately packt up in new Stays,
So complete for the winter, he saw very plain
'Twould be devilish hard work to unpack him again.
So what's to be done?--there's the Ministers, bless 'em!--
As he made the puppets, why shouldn’t he dress 'em?
"An excellent thought!--call the tailors--be nimble--
"Let Cum bring his spy-glass, and Hertford her thimble;
"While Yarmouth shall give us, in spite of all quizzers,
"The last Paris cut with his true Gallic scissors."
So saying, he calls Castlereagh and the rest
Of his heaven-born statesmen, to come and be drest.
While Yarmouth, with snip-like and brisk expedition,
Cuts up all at once a large Catholic Petition
In long tailors' measures, (the Prince crying "Well-done!")
And first puts in hand my Lord Chancellor Eldon.