John Bull was beat at Waterloo! They’ll swear to that in France. - Winthrop Mackworth Praed

His partners at the whist-club said
That he was faultless in his dealings.

She was our queen, our rose, our star;
And then she danced—O Heaven, her dancing!

Dame Fortune is a fickle gipsy,
And always blind, and often tipsy;
Sometimes for years and years together,
She ’ll bless you with the sunniest weather,
Bestowing honour, pudding, pence,
You can’t imagine why or whence;—
Then in a moment—Presto, pass!—
Your joys are withered like the grass;