The wretched Boney, we are told, Reduced, and shivering with the cold, To public houses used to rove, And warm his hands before a stove; Nay, in Corrozza, it is said, A large score still remains unpaid. He in an humble garret slept, Which never very clean was kept, Hence got he a disorder, which The vulgar people call the ‘itch.’ Long might have been poor Nap’s dejection But for a pending insurrection; For now was entertained th’ intention Of overturning the Convention. The party by Barras were led, He of the rebels was the head; But, neither brave nor skilful reckon’d, He wish’d to have an able second. This task, by many, as we find, Was conscientiously declin’d; For every one of them well knew, A dreadful slaughter must ensue. Barras said in a thinking mood, ‘I know a rascal fond of blood-- A little Corsican blackguard, But now to find him may be hard.’ Then, having mentioned Boney’s name, They all agreed upon the same; And Tallien gladly undertook For the said Corsican to look. Soon Boney on their honors waited, Though all in rags as it is stated; And, matters being quick concluded, No ‘saucy doubts or fears’ intruded; Nap with a horse was soon provided, And regimentals he beside had. This scheme began they to contrive In seventeen hundred, ninety five. And of October, we may say, The fourth was now a fatal day! For, lo! the insurgents sallied out, And desolation spread about; All honest opposition fail’d And blood-stain’d tyranny prevail’d. Men, women, children, at a bitter rate The cries of ‘Treason,’ did reiterate, But nothing could their fury quell, For women, men, and children fell! Now, owing to this revolution, Was formed another Constitution; Nap this assembly went to meet, And laid his _trophies_ at their feet: These trophies were _eight thousand carcases_, Among the wounds, too, many a mark was his. A _second_ victory like this, Was to Barras extatic bliss. And Nap, for bravery extoll’d, No longer a blackguard was called; But as a hero now regarded, Was amply by Barras rewarded. In this life there is many a change, As unexpected and as strange: Then let us hope that this day’s sorrow May be tranquillity to-morrow: For, mark you how our hero rose, Who wanted money, shoes, and clothes; All those he had--and, what is more, His garret chang’d for a first floor; And such, too, was his happy lot, That he a place for Lucien got; Who, after this notorious slaughter, Had married an innkeeper’s daughter.