File:A poetical description of the map (BM 1872,0113.1216).jpg

English: Heading to printed verses: 'A Poetical Description of the Map' (five verses of 12 11.). Great Britain is an adaptation of BMSat 8397, inscribed 'Johnny Bull on a Whale'; a thistle growing out of his head represents 'Scotland'; an Irish harp is 'Ireland'. The contour of Europe is roughly correct; on most of the countries are little figures or scenes. On 'France' a landscape (torn). On 'Spain' a whole length portrait of (?) Charles IV, hanging askew. On 'Switzerland' a funeral urn flanked by yews. On 'Portugal', as on 'Italy', a landscape. On 'Holland' a Dutch toper. On (west) 'Germany' crowned heads looking out through prison bars. On 'Prussia' is an infantry soldier. On 'Sweden' a reindeer sledge; 'Norway' and 'Denmark' are blank. On 'Russia' are polar bears, &c. In 'Turkey' a Turk advances towards Britannia, who is seated, with cap of Liberty, Lion, and olive-branch. Below:

'Oft we see in the shops, a print set up for sale,
England colour'd, an old fellow striding a whale:
Yes! Old England's a picture, the sea forms its frame,
And Hibernia and Scotia they class with the same.
Would you ask me what crystal, so clear, 'tis before;
'Tis the large lens of liberty plates them all o'er . . .
He hangs o'er the ocean, protector, and pride.
See the rude hand of time has not dar'd to assail
Yet "the sturdy old fellow astride on his whale."

There's a picture just by these, all tatter'd and torn;
One all blood-smear'd and red; that is France, I'd be sworn:
What's that covers its surface, all shining like wax?
Tis the varnish of tyranny; see how it cracks!
There's a portrait beside of a drunken old sot;
That is Holland: how mildew'd and eat with the rot!
And its station, alas! by the very first glance,
We may see does not suit; for its crowded by France. . . .

Yon rich landscape behold! it has seen better days;
And illumin'd was once with bright liberty's rays:
That is Switzerland; fam'd for its picturesque views;
But France now clouds its prospects; its vines turns to yews.
View that one to the right, that to France very near,
That bore once brightest colours, transparent and clear;
A tint most harmonious, like opening dawn;
That is Italy; mark how its colours are gone!
It no longer can boast of its olive retreat,
Now its large lumb'ring neighbour so elbows its seat!
Yon vineyard-scene's Portugal: some tints still prevail
Like "the sturdy old fellow's astride on his whale."

See that portrait!, away to the left, to the rear,
Descriptive of jealousy, anguish, and fear;
That which tremblingly hangs by its slight golden string;
And seems ready to drop from its great gilded ring
That poor portrait is Spain; and the ring is its crown:
See! the motions of France almost shatter it down!
Yon's a picture surrounded by some smaller ones,
Which seems like a debtor that's haunted by duns;
That is Germany, tended by all its small states.
And it looks tow'rds France like a prisoner through grates.
They're so shadow'd by France, not a ray can prevail,
Like "the sturdy old fellow's astride on his whale."

The next portrait is Prussia, a soldier, afar,
Just arous'd into action, and rushing to war.
Look again, tow'rds the right, see! three snow-scenes appear, . . .
Russia, Sweden, and Denmark, distinguish these three,
Still there's one distant picture o'erlooked you may see:
It is Turkey; and see it tow'rds England advance;
For its terribly lately been shadow'd by France, . . .' 6 December 1806

Hand-coloured etching with letterpress