I found this story on Futility Closet's blog here.
Sometime around 1807, a Nuremberg bookseller wrote the following:
Bonaparte: Alone I am in this sequestered spot, not overheard.
Bonaparte: ‘Sdeath! Who answers me? What being is there nigh?
Bonaparte: Now I guess! To report my accents Echo has made her task.
Bonaparte: Knowest thou whether London will henceforth continue to resist?
Bonaparte: Whether Vienna and other courts will oppose me always?
Bonaparte: O, Heaven! what must I expect after so many reverses?
Bonaparte: What! should I, like a coward vile, to compound be reduced?
Bonaparte: After so many bright exploits be forced to restitution?
Bonaparte: Restitution of what I’ve got by true heroic feats and martial address?
Bonaparte: What will be the fate of so much toil and trouble?
Bonaparte: What will become of my people, already too unhappy?
Bonaparte: What should I then be that I think myself immortal?
Bonaparte: The whole world is filled with the glory of my name, you know.
Bonaparte: Formerly its fame struck this vast globe with terror.
Bonaparte: Sad Echo, begone! I grow infuriate! I die!
This was considered a seditious text, resulting in the bookseller being courtmartialed and shot. Napoleon later said, “I believe he met with a fair trial.”
Let this be a lesson to all people who write bad poetry.