Behold two mighty chiefs come on!

Behold two mighty chiefs come on!
Not Hector, nor yet Telamon;
Who, 'stead of fists, cuff'd foes with rocks,
But two tom-tits, or bantum cocks:
Not like two combatants of yore,
Who slew the foe, and drank the gore,
Like tigers, or fierce mastiff dogs—
But chiefs from Homer's mice and frogs;
Lank both in form and voice, and taper,
Like an eel skin, or a thread paper;
Who ammunition draw from lungs,
And wield not swords nor spears, but tongues.
Suppose them enter'd in the list,
Their cause of quarrel who was hiss'd
Or groan'd at most at either house:
Says general frog to general mouse—

'Signor Pantheon
'Vat ting you play on,
'To give Mister John Bull delight?'
" Monsieur Haymarket,
" Pray don't you bark yet,
" Nor shew your toose, for you can't bite."
'My great big house make people stare,'
" Vat use great house, nobody dare?
" I do de op'ra, you must sing song:"
'Ninety foot wide, hundred yard long,
'And den great many much foot high,
'The chandelier he touch de sky:'
" You Sadler-vells, Astley, Foxhall,
" All Derry Down, Tit fol de rol:"
'Your house make mine one servant-hall,'
" I license get, you none at all."
'Fire and fury, dev'l in hell,
'Oh vat disgracia
'To my faccia,
''Tis ferry fell,
'Fiddler, singer, dancer, quick
'To assist your gen'ral rush,
'Make haste, shoulder your fiddlestick,
'And all to piece dis nutshell crush.'
" Nutshell he full, he bring some meat a,
" Your fiddlestick no good to eat a."
'Oh zounds, cot tam!
'Vat rage I am,
'I could my flesh for anger eat:'
" Ah do, you'll get no other meat."
'Shades of creat musicians all,
'In heaven, in hell, or on the deep,
'Quick appear, obey my call:'
" He won't appear, he fast asleep."
'Bononcini,
'Farinelli,
'Piccini,
'Iomelli,
'And all de elli,
'And nelli,
'And rini,
'And cini,
'Great fiddling quire,
'Appear at sound of David lyre.
'Come, drive dis rogue from English land!
'Fat, short, and tall a men
'Come, follow follow men,
'David and Soloman,
'One sing, and toder lead the band!'
" Ah you may bawl,
" You cini he vont come at all."
'I'll stop your mouth, you villain taef!'
" All dis fine nize dome get roast a beaf!"
" Come dome be fool,
" But let us join
" Your force and mine,
" And den dome fear
" But, the next year,
" Wid your fine hell,
" Your tund'ring swell,
" My he, and ha,
" Mister John Bull
" Shall cry hoora!
" Vive L'Opera!"