MOunsieur looks pale, and Anjou quakes,
Weakly stands the Thrones they sit on,
Dull is Versailles, th' Escurial shakes,
Hearing of the Bank of Britain.
Lewis storms to think the Foe,
Instead of sinking down grows stronger,
Morbleu, says he, their Millions grow,
'Tis in vain to fight 'em longer.
When K. of Spain, I crown'd young Phill,
And to fix him made such Offers,
Jernie, thought I, the Bullion will
All be cram'd now in my Coffers:
But these Bougers drink and whore,
And riot on each small Occasion,
And yet begar will ne'er be poor,
Le Grand Diable's in de Nation.
The Spanish Indies I possess,
Yet they bear a Purse above me,
And that I no Bank can raise,
Shews how well my People love me:
Former grand Success is gone,
Bruges, Ghent, and Lisle is taken,
Then whilst my Capital's my own,
I'll make Peace, and save my Bacon.
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