Sir CECIL's DELIGHT: Or, The DOWNFAL of CHELSEA. To the tune of-Derry down.

WHEN Sir Cecil thought fit for the good of the nation,

With his fixpenny favings to plan reformation,
That a Fox founded Chelfea, no fooner he read,

But down it should go, the bold Baronet faid.

Pull it down, down, down, pull it down.

He faid and he fwore 'twas a fcandalous thing,
Such an idle expence on the country to bring;
Forty Pounds at the most, a whole Heffian would coft,
Here's fifty a year, if a limb be but loft.

Pull it down, down, down, pull it down.

Befide (cries Sir Cecil) I pity not thofe,

Who run in the way of hard knocks and dry blows,
The fools, from all danger of fuffering free,

Might ferve all their lives were they foldiers like me.

Pull it down, down, down, pull it down.

By tenderness too for the weakness of age,
In this tender work I am mov'd to engage,
The rooms are too lofty, too fpacious and cold :
A fnug birth in a workhouse were beft for the old.

Pull it down, down, down, pull it down.

But may be, who fuch pitiful favings to make,
From the vet'rans poor pittance a portion would take;
Learn from you, on our Huftings if ftill he appears,
He has pull'd an old houfe, boys, about his own ears.

Pull him down, down, down, pull him down.

And may be, may our Fox, whofe good ancestor gave
His wealth and his lands in reward of the brave,
Like the Hofpital ftand, and from you find fupport,
While Sir Cecil, in vain, cries with Pitt and the Court,

Pull 'em down, down, down, pull 'em down.

The WESTMINSTER RE-ELECTION: Or, The FRIEND we can TRUST.

A NEW

SONG.

IF Freedom's a jewel of value immenfe,

Who'd fell it that has but a fcruple of fenfe?

Don't we fee how the Monarch of France domineers,

And treats all like flaves, both his Commons and Peers?

'Tis our duty as Britons our rights to defend:

And let Fox be our champion, for he's a try'd friend."

If

If fycophant Lords would, to flatter the King,
With to make him a tyrant, they ought fure to fwing;
But what pow'r have they to transfer to the Throne,
The rights of the Commons, if they do their own?
'Tis our duty as Britons our rights to defend,
And let Fox be our champion, for he's a try'd friend.
If patriot virtue fhould now not fucceed,
Nor receive its reward in the hour of need,
Britannia no longer her Freedom will boast;
When once it is gone, it for ever is lost.
"Tis our duty as Britons our rights to defend,
And let Fox be our champion, for he's a try'd friend..
As what here is chaunted is meant for your good,
Beware, ye Electors, of Wray and of Hood:
May the King long enjoy his prerogative royal!
But we'll have the privilege e'er to be loyal.
'Tis our duty as Britons our rights to defend,
And let Fox be our member, for he's a try'd friend..

SCENE The Small Beer Cellar
Sir See Silly Wy folus..

ALL other men feek light and chearful day,
But darkness I, to chace my grief away.
To thee, great Satan, for fuccefs. I cry,
Oh! grant your favourite's with, or else I die.
(Belzebub rifes from beneath the earth.)
Arife! behold! fent from the fhades below,
I from the D-1 come, a friend you know ;;
Infernals never heard, he bade me fay,
Such zeal as for his fervice you difplay;
His Highness too joins his applause among
The pleas'd, aftonifh'd, and admiring throng;
And to reward fuch admirable merit,

Declares a feat in Hell you fhall inherit:

His royal word, once pafs'd, you may depend
Will never alter-only when you mend..

Ingratitude has yet untafted pleasures,

Go on, be firm, fuccefs fhall crown your measures.

A NEW SONG..

To the Tune of Green Sleeves.

SINCE women of fashion govern the State,

And you, Mrs. Hobart, have fure the most weight,
I wonder you've no better candidate,

Than Sir Cecil Wray.

W. A. S.

For

For tho' he opposes the ftamping of notes,
'Tis in order to tax all your petticoats,
Then how can a woman folicit our votes
For Sir Cecil Wray?

Indeed, Mrs. Hobart, 'twould coft you fome tears,
If all the Electors fhould give themselves airs,
And to girls, fuch as you, prefer the Back Stairs,
Like Sir Cecil Wray.

It only befits the friends of the Court,
Lord Sackville and Pitt, and Lord Camelfort,
And men of their tafte to give their support
To Sir Cecil Wray.

What! though from the Garden he's taken a wife,
And endures the worst evils of family ftrife,

"Tis only to cover the rest of the life'

Of Sir Cecil Wray.

The gallant Lord Hood to his country is dear,
His voters, like Charly's, make excellent cheer,
But who has been able to taste the small beer
Of Sir Cecil Wray.

Then come ev'ry free, ev'ry generous foul,
That loves a fine girl and a full flowing bowl,
Come here in a body, and all of you poll
'Gainft Sir Cecil Wray.

In vain all the arts of the Court are let loose,
The Electors of Westminster never will choofe
To run down a Fox, and fet up a Goofe,

Like Sir Cecil Wray.

A NEW SONG.

To the tune of Ye Warwickshire Lads and ye Laffes.

YE Westminster lads and ye laffes,

Come fee at our Huftings what paffes;

Ye lads bring your laffes, and revel away,

Eat and drink what you will, you have nothing to pay ;

Nothing to pay !
Then be gay!

Eat and drink what you will, you have nothing to pay.

But

But fee our three Candidates coming,

Hear filly Sir Cecil hum-drumming;

Our burthens to eafe, and grant Government aids,
He'll tax our young girls, and he'll ftarve our old blades,
Starve our old blades!

Tax our maids!

He'll tax our young girls, and he'll flarve our old blades.
And if this from our load fhould not ease us;

He'll promife yet, further to please us,

For, unlefs his wife project by Fox is withstood,
Down Greenwich may go, with confent of Lord Hood!
Gallant Lord Hood,

Oh, how good!

Down Greenwich may go, with confent of Lord Hood!
His filence Lord Hood would be breaking,

But his talent, he knows, is not fpeaking;

Yet he hopes that our Weftminfter boys he may hum,

To give their fupport to an Orator Mum!

Orator Mum!

All must come,

To give their fupport to an Orator Mum!

His principles Fox need not tell us,

In our cause he has ever been zealous;

Then your zeal in the caufe at our Huftings difplay;"
Fox AND FREEDOM FOR EVER, with plumpers, huzza!
Plumpers, huzza!

Vote away,

FO AND FREEDOM FOR EVER, with plumpers, huzza!

The COURT CANVASS of MADAM BLUBBER.
Yo the tune of―The first Time at the Locking Glass.

A CERTAIN Lady, I won't name,

Muft take an active part, Sir,
To fhow that DEVON's beauteous dame,
Should not engage each heart, Sir;
She canvas'd all, both great and finall,
And thunder'd at each door, Sir,
She rumag'd every fhop and ftall,

The Duchefs was still before, Sir.

Sam Marrow-bones had fhut up fhop,
And just had light his pipe, Sir,
When in the lady needs muft pop,

Exceeding plump and ripe, Sir;
God zounds, fays he, how late you be,
For votes you come to bore me,
But let us feel, are you beef or veal,
The Duchefs has been before ye.

A Fifl

A Fishmonger fhe next addrefs'd,
With many a foothing tale, Sir,
And for his vote moft warmly prefs'd
But all would not prevail, Sir
The finest cod's-head fure in town,
Of oyfters fend two fcore too
Extremely, Madam, like your own,
The Duchefs was here before you.
A Grocer next, to make amends,
The dame with fmiles accofted,
You Grocers all to Pitt are friends,
Of her connexion boafted;

For plums and raifins, Ma'am, faid he,
I'm willing for to score you,

In politics we ha'n't agree,

The Duchefs was here before you.

Sly Obediah was at prayers,

With many pious folk, Sir,

His pretty maid on the Back Stairs,

She found, and thus bespoke her :

"This ribband take, all interest make,
"Your mafter will adore you,

"For Hood and Wray, prefs kifs and pray,"
Now Dutchess I'm once before you.

A ftable keeper to engage,

She then her talents try'd, Sir,

He fell into a monftrous rage,

And all her fmiles defy'd, Sir;

Are you a moon, or Court balloon?
Get out you female Tory,

Tho' Courts prevail, I'll not turn tail,
The Duchefs was here before you.

However Courtiers take offence,

And Cits and Prudes may join Sir,

Beauty will ever influence,

The free and generous mind, Sir,

Fair DEVON, like the rifing fun,
Proceeds in her full glory,

Whilft Madam's duller orb must own,

The Duchefs moves ftill before her.

In praife of Sir Chelsea Tax Girl, Knight of the Key, and Lord High Keeper of the

Small Beer Cellar.

COME Electors, pray come quickly,

To the Huftings now draw near,

When for Cecil you have voted,

You fhall taste of his fmall beer.

32

CHORUS.