Or stain the snow-white flag.
Wielder of mere stage-dagger,
Loud lord of empty swagger,
In peril's hour a lagger.
A Paladin of Brag!

And now his venture faileth,
And now his valour paleth;
_Et après?_ What availeth
His aid to those who'd use him?
Imperial or Royal,
What "patron" will prove loyal
Unto this "dupe"? They'll joy all
To mock, expose, abuse him!

But from the contest shrinking,
The draught of failure drinking,
In trickery's quicksand sinking,
Pulls he not others down?
Will PLON-PLON stand securely,
The COMTE pose proudly, purely,
Whilst slowly but most surely
Their tool must choke or drown?

Indifferent France sits smiling.
And what avails reviling?
Such pitch without defiling
Can "Prince" or "Patriot" touch?
This quicksand unromantic
Closes on him, the Antic,