The Two Veterans.

Rare satirical print by George Cruikshank of the Prince Regent and Bulcher drinking. Blucher raises his glass, behind him hangs a painting of him galloping in pursuit of the terrified Napoleon. The Regent tipsily tilts his chair, while steading himself with an outstretched leg  tilts the table, upsetting; a candelabra, decanter, large bowl of punch, which his private secretary Yarmouth leans over him, putting a hand on his shoulder and dips a ladle into the punch to fill the Regent’s extended glass. Above the Regent is a painting of Punch and his wife, fighting.

The verse below in two columns;
‘Hectora quern laudas, pro te pugnare juneto [sic, i.e. jubeto] [Hector to whom you praise, to combat command]
Militia est operis altera digna tuis. Ovid. [Is there another worthy of your work. Heroides xvii, 255 f.]

Oh! Wine is the thing to make veterans tell /Of their deeds and their triumphs—and punch does as well—/ As the R—t and B—r, that sober old pair,/ Fully prov’d  t’other night, when they supp’d—you know where,/ And good humour’dly bragged of the feats they’d been doing, /O’er exquisite punch of my Y—r—th’s own brewing./ ‘This’ diff’rence there was in the modes of their strife, / ‘One’ had fought with the ‘French’—t’other fought with his —/ “How I dress’d them!” said B—r, and fill’d up sublime—/ “I too,” says the P—e, “have dressed men in my time.” /’Bl.’ One morning at dawn—/ ‘Reg.’ Zounds, how early you fight! /I could never be ready ‘(hiccups) my’ things are so tight! /’Bl.’ I sent forward a few pioneers over night—/ ‘Reg.’ Ugly animals these are, in general, I hear—(‘hiccups’)/ The Q— you must know is ‘my’ chief pioneer.”/’Bl.’ The foe came to meet us—
‘Reg.’ There I manage better,/ The foe would meet ‘me’, but I’m d—n’d if I’ll let her./ ‘Bl.’ Pell Mell was the word—dash thro’ thick and thro’ thin.

‘Reg.’ C—l—n H— to a tittle!—how well we chime in!/ ‘Bl.’ For the fate of all Europe, the fate of men’s rights,/ We battl’d—/ ‘Reg.’ And I for the grand fete at White’s!/ ‘Bl.’ Though the ways, deep and dirty, delay’d our design—/ ‘Reg.’ Never talk of the dirt of ‘your’ ways, think of ‘mine’/ ‘Bl.’ And the balls hissing round—/ ‘Reg.’ Oh, those balls be ‘my’ lot,/ Where a good supper is, and the P—nc—ss is ‘not’./ And for hissing—why faith, I’ve so much ev’ry day,/ That my name, I expect in the true Royal way,/ Will descend to posterity, “George le Siffle!”/ ‘Bl.’ But we conquer’d, we conquer’d—blest hour of my life!/ ‘Reg.’ And blest moment of mine, when I conquer’d my w—./ Here the dialogue falter’d—he still strove to speak,/ And strong was the punch, and the R—t’s head weak;/ And the Marshal cried “Charge!” and the bumpers went round,/ Till the fat-toilet veteran sunk on the ground;/ And old Bl—ch—r triumphantly crow’d from his seat,/ To see one worthy Potentate more at his feet!

Printed on Balsiong watermarked paper dated 1813.