Let Courtiers and fycophants do all they can,
'Mongft them we find honefty rarely;
But Fox, upon trial, we've found a true man,
So let's give our plumpers to Charly.
Though Hood and Sir Cecil against him combine,
To them we give credit but fparely;

If we judge men by actions, we fure must incline
To give all our plumpers to Charly.

He's able, he's honeft, he's bold, and he's free,
He ever acts open and fairly;

To the cause of his country devoted is he,

So we'll give our plumpers to Charly.
To Back Stairs Prerogative he'll never bend,

Not for King or for Lords act unfairly,
But the rights of the people with firmnefs defend;
Who, then, deferves Plumpers, but Charly?
Let's cheerfully, then, to the Huftings repair,
In face of the nation, and fairly

Proclaim that the guardian of freedom's our care,
And give all our plumpers to Charly.

Of old our forefathers corruption withstood;
The Charter of Freedom they bought with their blood;
Shall we, their defcendants, degenerate fall?
He that does may he die-out of Liberty-Hall!
Long life to the King, he's affur'd of our aid,
If-Honour and Wifdom his Council's pervade;
Nor frowns nor neglect can true patriots appall,
For they're the main pillars of Liberty-Hall.
Confiftent in office, determined as fate,
Unbiafs'd to guide the affairs of the State;
No Secret Influence their minds can enthral,

Nor alter their fyftem in Liberty-Hall.

Our great Conftitution in wisdom was fram'd,

The King, Lords, and COMMONS, its guardians were nam'd;
May each keep the line, or exift not at all,

Nor back-ftairs advisers taint Liberty-Hall.

The caufe we'll maintain, the great fabric fupport,

In fpite of the schemes and intrigues of the Court;

The

Then firmly united we'll ftand one and all,
By the Man of the People in Liberty-Hall.
Rouze! rouze! fons of Freedom, nor let it be faid,
That we by prerogative tools fhall be led;

In Liberty-Hall, boys, we'll give them hard knocks,
Then turn out Sir Cecil, and chair the ftaunch FOX.
Fol de rol, &c.

LET others tell of Billy Pitt,

Or fing the victories of Wray;

Such themes fuch geniufes may fit;
"Tis Beauty's caufe infpires my lay.

When Temple mounted the Back Stairs,

And youth fupply'd the place of knowledge,
When Lord Mahon affum'd ftrange airs,
And Billy went once more to college;

With plumbs the Grocers fed the cause,

And Wilkes cry'd out for our undoing:

Who then for freedom and the laws,

Who then could fave us from our ruin?

Fox pour'd the flood of eloquence,

And Ca'ndifh lent his fpotlefs name;

There too was Powys' manly fense,

And there was Erfkine's genuine flame.
It would not do! Black Thurlow's frown,
And Billy's prudence gain'd the prize:
'Twas Beauty must redeem the crown,

And Fox mufl reign thro' Devon's eyes.
She faw, fhe conquer'd: Wray fhrunk back;
Court mandates we no more obey;

Majorities no more they pack,

And Fox and Freedom win the day!

Who can deny when beauty fues?

And where's the tongue can blame her Grace;

Not timid flavery can refuse:

Her life's as fpotlefs as her face.

Let Pitt and Wray diflike the fair,

Decry our Devon's matchlefs merit;

A braver, kinder foul we wear,

And love her beauty, love her fpirit.

Let diftant times and ages know,

When Temple would have made us flaves,

'Tis thus we ward the fatal blow,

'Tis Fox that beats-'tis Devon faves!

And the Lord knows where flown; Yet who can the Bishops upbraid? Though no one at all

Now attends at St. Paul,

Yet the Dean's daily worship is paid.
At this time, Cecil Wray,

And

Judas kifs'd to betray,

you his example now follow:
Believe me, this part,

Will win your King's heart,

And you'll foon be his magnus Apollo!

My Billy!-my Billy!

Though now you're fo filly,

To think you've the fenfe of the nation,
Yet take care left ye bring
Ruin e'en on your King,
When the people demand reparation.

Ye Miniftry! know, Sirs,
Balfhazzar had Grocers,

And Princes at his famous dinner!

And in fpite of your canting,

You're WEIGH'D, and found WANTING,

And foon will be punish'd each finner!

All hail, my Lord Somers!
Among the new-comers,

From darkness to regions of light!

'Tis true you're a Lord!

But for once take my word,

A Black Moor can ne'er be wash'd white.

O, my King!--if a man
Should advife fuch a plan,

As the ruin and fall of Charles Fox,

No ghoft from his hell,

Have you need of to tell,

That you'll fplit on Prerogative Rocks!

Then, Oh! take in time,

Advice couch'd in rhyme;

(For my rhyme does not flow without reafon)

Since till fuch measures end,

To be a King's friend,

Is almoft to be guilty of treason! 3 R

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