LXXX.

So said the Florentine: ye monarchs, hearken

To your instructor. Juan now was borne,

Just as the day began to wane and darken,

O'er the high hill, which looks with pride or scorn

Toward the great city.—Ye who have a spark in

Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn

According as you take things well or ill;—

Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill!

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