A Dukedom, and not one the worse for wear,

Has Sims well earned by service to the King.

'Tis said at court, Howe's spirit following

The ocean still, found Sims his natural heir

And said: "Swap souls; and, that the swap be fair,

Give me to boot, the bone of Freedom's wing,

To make the skyey bird a hobbling thing

In marshes, where the ignisfatus flare."

The Eagle with his eye and pinion, trained

For mateship with the sun, twitched at a sting.

Amazed to find a "cootie" on his wing,

And that the insect dreamed, it was ordained

By race heredity to serve the King—

He shook his plume and azured, unprofained.