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In French varnish'd chariots see Quacks drawn along, Like Death, looking down on their Victims, the
The Outs 'gainst the Ins will for ever take aim,
Beat about for fresh sport, thro' yon' Hall let us draw,
We're at fault, but whose is it? come, Sportsmen,
Hark to Honesty, that's the prime hound in our pack; We are all sound and staunch, for a brisk Burst
prepare, Talio ! 'tis a Bumper,-fill free and drink fair. Here's the Queen of our hunt, 'tis Britannia's our Old England for ever ! let that be the Toast; See a fresh bottle starts, one view hollow ;-huzza ! The Fox Brush, and Beauty's Brush, brush them
om a mostarb 200 la he openite ) og dew window absol
Confusion, and eke contradiction its mate,
prate; As all to be in, suppose equal pretences, Of Innings when baulkød, they're out of their senses.
Yet, seriously, Sirs, this world's not so bad,
But where do they live? tis not worth while to try, They are such sort of folks other folks can't live by.
How easy is Weakness by Wickedness turn'd, Unworthiness welcom'd, and Worthiness scorn'd; The Female Sex charge not with prostitute vice, Mankind will be bought come but up to their price.
All Men and their Measures 'tis easy to see,
Will any here hesitate how they declare?
T is he who's unaw'd by the sound of a Name,
Yet harbours no Hate in his breast;
As he hopes they do all for the best.
And true to his Friend and his Glass;
And ne'er baulk'd a Leap, nor a Lass.
No Office he flatters, compounds with no Cheat,
But ever takes Honesty's part; Compassion awaits on his Justice's seat,
And Charity tenants his heart.
For Girls are ensnar'd like the Game;
His pity prevents her from shame.
To Game-Acts he fancies our Liberty yields,
So sets their inflictions aside ;
Which is to the Freeborn deny'd.
Or Puss take, perhaps, in a snare,
And Man made a Slave for a Hare?
If Sticks from the Hedge of his Honour are found
In the lap of the big-belly'd poor, While sleet fills the air, and deep snow's on the
ground, And Misery groans at the door. Humanity tells him to seek out the cause,
Which prompted Distress to turn Thief; Convinc'd 'twas mere Want, he awakes not the laws,
But stops future crimes by Relief.
This, this is the Man, uncorrupted he stands,
To Baal who ne'er bow'd the knee;
And ever liv'd debtless and free.
The Man who no Party can snare';
I wou'd-if I cou'd but tell where.
The fact is, simply,--my Nose.