Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;

Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high;

Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies;[64]

The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory!

The Foe, the Victim, and the fond Ally

That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,[65]

Are met—as if at home they could not die—

To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,

And fertilise the field that each pretends to gain.