V.

“Had the wrong been done by others, By the cold and haughty Czar, I had trembled ere I opened All the thunders of my war. But I care not for the yelping Of these fangless curs of Greece— Soon and sorely will I tax them For the merchant’s plundered Fleece. From the earth his furniture for wrath and vengeance cries— Ho, Eddisbury! take thy pen, and straightway write to Wyse!”