The cheated nation’s happy favourites see! 
  Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me! 
  London, the needy villain’s general home,
  The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome,
  With eager thirst, by folly or by fate,
  Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. 
  Forgive my transports on a theme like this—­
  I cannot bear a French metropolis.

   Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day,
  The land of heroes and of saints survey; 100
  Nor hope the British lineaments to trace,
  The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace;
  But lost in thoughtless ease and empty show,
  Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau;
  Sense, freedom, piety, refin’d away,
  Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey!

   All that at home no more can beg or steal,
  Or like a gibbet better than a wheel;
  Hiss’d from the stage, or hooted from the court,
  Their air, their dress, their politics import; 110
  Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay,
  On Britain’s fond credulity they prey. 
  No gainful trade their industry can ’scape. 
  They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clap: 
  All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows,
  And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes. 
  Ah! what avails it that, from slavery far,
  I drew the breath of life in English air;
  Was early taught a Briton’s right to prize,
  And lisp the tale of Henry’s victories; 120
  If the gull’d conqueror receives the chain,
  And flattery prevails, when arms are vain?

  Studious to please, and ready to submit,
  The supple Gaul was born a parasite: 
  Still to his interest true where’er he goes,
  Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue bestows;
  In every face a thousand graces shine,
  From every tongue flows harmony divine. 
  These arts in vain our rugged natives try,
  Strain out, with faltering diffidence, a lie, 130
  And get a kick for awkward flattery.

  Besides, with justice, this discerning age
  Admires their wondrous talents for the stage: 
  Well may they venture on the mimic’s art,
  Who play from morn to night a borrow’d part;
  Practised their master’s notions to embrace,
  Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face;
  With every wild absurdity comply,
  And view its object with another’s eye;
  To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear, 140
  To pour at will the counterfeited tear;
  And as their patron hints the cold or heat,
  To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.

  How, when competitors like these contend,
  Can surly Virtue hope to fix a friend? 
  Slaves that with serious impudence beguile,
  And lie without a blush, without a smile,
  Exalt each trifle, every vice adore,
  Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore,
  Can Balbo’s eloquence applaud, and swear 150
  He gropes his breeches with a monarch’s air.