JOHN BULL TO JONATHAN.

You grow too fast, my child! Your stalwart limbs, Herculean in might, now rival mine; The starry light upon your forehead dims The lustre of my crown—distasteful sign. Contract thy wishes, boy! Do not insist Too much on what's thine own—thou art too new! Bend and curtail thy stature! As I list, It is my glorious privilege to do. Take my advice—I freely give it thee— Nay, would enforce it. I am ripe in years— Let thy young vigor minister to me! Restrain thy freedom when it interferes! No rival must among the nations be To jeopardize my own supremacy!