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The Fiend Corruption, first brought forth
Dust-licking Adulation ;
With Party's altercation.
Call's Infamy, the Pander;
Of Insolence and Slander.
So fertile were th' Infernal Race,
Each day new monsters prowling, Base Perjury with rank Grimace,
And Envy ever howling; Servility with worthless Pride,
Débauch with poison'd Diet, Swoln Gluttony by Scurvy's Side,
A Faction form'd for Riot.
A while these Implings croak'd about,
'Till startling Madam Circe, She order'd all the Vermin out, Nor to her own shew'd
mercy. Absurdity with Malice went,
Ingratitude with Lewdness, Scurrility with Discontent,
And Ridicule with Rudeness.
Their bastard brood the Dæmons bore,
Along the mid-air flitting,
Where Bribery was sitting.
And gave them his directions ; His Agents took them into pay,
Then sent them to ELECTIONS.
How Strumpets can look, how they dare shew
their faces, And those wicked Wives who from Husband's
Husban arms fly, Lord ! where do they think they must go when they
But "next day, by Husband, with 'Prentice Boy
caught, When she'from the bed was to Toilet-glass brought, Her Head he held up, with this gentle RebukeMy Dear! you was wishing to know how Whores
Turn your eyes to that table, at once you will see
All the World wou'd be wed, if the Clergy cou'd
At his feet she sunk down, Sorrow lent her such
Moans That Resentment was gagg'd by her Tears and her
Oh! Corregio! cou'd I Sigismunda design,
Transported to doating! he rais'd the Distressid,
THE GRISKIN CLUB.
F Griskins I sing,
They're a feast for a King; Kings, Homer says, dress'd their own Messes:
Achilles, the hot,
Always hung on the Pot, Patroclus he garnish'd the Dishes.
By the Poets of old,
Tho' his Taste it was fine,
Yet like us cou'd not dine, For no Griskins were cook'd 'inong the Greeks.
'Mong the Greeks? well I know, man,
Apicius was Roman,
Not of Roman, nor Greek,
But of Britons I speak,
And the French Dartineuf,
Sardanaplus was great,
And Lucullus cou'd treat, Yet never a Griskin demolish'd
One Emp'ror took pains
To make Ragouts of Brains,
It was done long ago,
For at present I know,
Come! Lads, hark away,
Hunt the Bottle To-day,
Be this understood,
May our Griskins prove good,
JACK TAR'S SONG.
Co Mind het us merry be,
NOME bustle, bustle, drink about,
be, Our Cann is full, we'll pump it
it out, And then all Hands to Sea. :
Anda Sailing we will ge.
Fine Miss at Dancing-school is tauglit,
The Minuet to tread,
The Fore Tack to Cat Head.
The Jockey's callid to Horse, to Horse,
And swiftly rides the Race,
When we are giving Chace.