"Bob Southey! You're a poet—Poet-laureate, And representative of all the race, Although 'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory at Last,—yours has lately been a common case; And now, my Epic Renegade! what are ye at? With all the Lakers, in and out of place? A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye Like "four and twenty Blackbirds in a pye.""