XCVII.

He had written praises of a Regicide;

He had written praises of all kings whatever;

He had written for republics far and wide,

And then against them bitterer than ever;

For pantisocracy he once had cried

Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever;

Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin—

Had turned his coat—and would have turned his skin.

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