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When Horns and Shouts the Forest rend,

His Pack the Huntsman cheers, As loud we hollow when we send

A Broadside to Mounseers.

The What's-their-names, at Uprores squall,

With music fine and soft,
But better sounds our Boatswain's Call,

All Hands, all Hands aloft !

With Gold and Silver Streamers fine

The Ladies Rigging shew,
But English Ships more grander shine,

When Prizes home we tow.

What's got at Sea we spend on Shore,

With Sweethearts, or our Wives,
And then, my Boys, hoist Sail for more,
Thus passes Sailors lives.

And a Sailing we will go.

1

PREJUDICE.

TUNE.
* Without you will promise, nay, sweat to be true."

INGRAT

NGRATITUDE's crime worse than Witchcraft

is nam'd, A neglect to repay what we owe; Of such an omission we must be asham'd,

I'm asham'd such omission to shew.

Who gave to Invasion Der Ortons preserve,

But when the alarm of an Earthquake was spread,

All London seem'd running away ; Unsafe the fine Gentleman fancy'd his bed,

And tumblid out, trembling, to pray.
No Sunday-throng'd Routs then Politeness disgrac'd

But each to the Temple repairs ;
The Delicate, dress'd most immensely in Taste,

Attempted to spell out their Prayers.
Under Beds, into Cellars, up Chimneys, in shoals,

As Rabbits to burrows will fly ;
The Free-thinkers ran, they believ'd then in Souls,

And blubbering,-begg'd not to dye.
But when Apprehension had labour'd in vain,

And Safety stopp'd Penitent's din,
Religion was quitted, for Seven is the Main.

'Tis Church-Time, my Dear, we'll cut in. Before that Rebellion at Culloden fled,

Pale Terror took Towns in the South ; Laugh seem'd to want Mirth, nay, Debauch sneak'd

to Bed, And Clamour was down in the Mouth. Then Soldiers were welcom'd, as Soldiers shou'd be,

Nay, embrac'd, as the Props of the Land; And Englishmen grateful, from Prejudice free,

Shook bra' bonny Scots by the Hand. But since-may his Memory Britons

; In Peace we permit our own Soldiers to starve,

But can't bear a Scotchman should eat.

E'er Mahomet cou'd the Turk's Mission begin,

Arch Gabri'l came down as his guest; He purify'd Mecca's Professor from sin,

Extracting a Speck from his breast.

That Spot we are born with, 'tis Jealousy's Core,

Mortality's Pain and Disgrace; Pluck it out, and to hinder its hurting you more,

EMULATION apply in its place.

FREEDOM.

TUNE.
" Bessy Bell, and Mary Gray."

HOME Neighbours, Neighbours, drink about,

Have done with Party's pother,
List not, ye Lads, to Uproar's rout,

On one side nor on t'other.
The Winners laugh, the Losers rail,

Thus Faction, ever dins, Sir ;
Insanity tells Folly's tale,

The Outs will at the Ins, Sir.

Oh, Common Sense! once more descend

To save this Isle from sinking;
Be once again Britannia's friend,

And set her Sons to thinking!
No more by Knaves let us be school'd,

But teach us how to read 'em,
Nor let well-meaning Men be fool'd

By Privilege and Freedom.

Where's Freedom ?--point out how and wher

We have enjoy'd that Bounty ? When Magna Charta-aye, Amen,

But tell me where's her County? Why where our Property's secur’d,

Where Liberty possessing : Then, Brother Britons, be assur'd

The GAME Act is a Blessing.

Lov'd LIBERTY ! celestial Maid!
Which

way

shall we address thee? You're England's Genius, it is said,

And English men possess thee.
We boast too much about this Fair,

For, nightly, tho' we toast her,
I wou'd not have you, Friends, despair

But, Faith, I fear we've lost her.

Like Hamlet's Ghost, 'Twas here! 'tis gone !

And only to be guess'd at;
As Maidenheads, when lost and won,

Are what the winners jest at,
In vain the GODDESS opes her arms,

No more her arms we're wooing ;
Licentiousness has Harlot's charms,

Which tempt to our undoing.

Wit, Beauty, Sciences, and Arts,

Are all become dependant ;
We're neither free in Heads nor Hearts,

We're Slaves, and there's an end on't.
It was, and ever will be so,

Each fetter'd to some Folly; And, all the Liberty we know,

Is-drink! and let's be jolly.

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THO

HO' News-papers puff ev'ry Nostrum to town, ,

What Nostrum is like the Grape's Juice ?
No Chymical Liquor that turns red to brown,

No Beaume de vie, nor Eau de Luce.
As to Rouge, the rank practice, alas ! is so rife;

The Beauty of Health it consumes,
But Wine is the Volatile Spirit of Life,

And brightens our natural Blooms.
The Balsam of Honey a tickling Cough stops,

To Maredant the Scurvy submits ;
There's what's his Name's wonderful Viperine Drops,

And Henry for Hysteric Fits;
But Physic, like Music, bears Fashion's decree,

Of Modish Distempers they tell us;
Licentiates, or not so, yet ev'ry M. D.
Pronounces us Narvous or Bilious.

H

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