Ah, my ſubjects! It is with grave aprehenſioun & diſguſt that I write to-daye of theſe unworthye, baſtard ſonnes of ye Romans. Perhaps no-one has had ſuche Arrogaunce, ſuch fooliſhe Pompouſneſs, and yet come out unſcath'd, nay, hightened, from their Rodomontades.
Ye Spaniards delude themſelues by thinkinge they are ye ſame -- ſay no blaſphemye, and rouſe thyſelves, noble Spaniards, above thoſe rat-faced mongrel proxenetes! Their vaunted firſt Athenaeum of ye Worlde is but a Backwater, their Patrimonye, ſo abundant, rottes awaye beneath ye Acid Rayne!
Even nowe, theyre Cheſtes are not only emptye, but twice emptye, withe a deficit of ittes owne value. Theire Heades are empty as welle, as are their Muſeums, their ſhoppes, and their Morales.
Ah! Perfidious Countrye, thou haſt marked mee far too manye a time, when my Shoos have tread'd thy filthye Streetes, with thy humid, drearye ſkyline, and that moſt-ludicrous and thy mouldy, undefendable Barrel, ye Caſtel Sant'Angelo.
Thy Lungotevere crumbleth -- ſee to its repair.
Thy patrimony returnes to ye Earth from which it came -- reſtore itte.
Thy people are ſtupid -- ſee to their educatioun.
Never have I ſeen ſo wretched a land, ſo oppreſsed a people, ſuch haughty ignoraunce. If only Parliament would give mee fundes to raiſe an armye! No, that ſhall not come, and we ſhall remain infected evermore.
