A Personal Reply

No! No. My Lord Dark-Lanthorn's-field,
You are not the kind of man to wield
The weight of England's Sword and Shield.

No! No. Too sacred is the Flag,
For flaunting like a Bull-ring rag,
Above your game of Bully-Brag.

No! No. Far better it ceased to wave
There, with the Dead, suspended, safe
In dust enough to be its grave!

No! No. You have led us to the ridge
Of the Abysm, and like a Midge
Would cross it. Nations need a bridge!

No! No. Though painted for the path
Of "War, you had better take a bath:
Let Harlequin now sheathe his Lath.

No! No. Our England, made to don
The mask of a face, with her true one
Shall laugh you into Oblivion!

No! No. We do not mean to fight
For Murderer and Sodomite;
Born enemies of all that's right.

No! No. If you must end the play
With some blood-letting Policy, pray
You follow that of Castlereagh.