Dutch Will play'd well at number one,
At Boyne he did not bounce ill;
He brought a block of Portland-stone,
To prop our Privy Council."

PART II.

"Q Steele," cries Pitt, "thou art my sword! And Hal my fubtle dagger :

For war let Bishops bawl the word;

For war, O Windham, fwagger."

Now Grenville roar'd-" Let 's taxes make!
Aye, that's the niceft rig, fure:

We win; but to lay down the stake,

We have John Bull the pig fure."

"Who makes worst tax fhall forfeits pay,"
Says Pitt; and I will judge it :
The best before the Houfe I'll lay,
Next Seffion, from my budget."

The butler then put in his word
(No fervant-man was bolder);

Quoth he-"In hand I love a bird:
Let me be forfeit-holder."

Cries Windham-"James that lad of wax
Call'd Hardy, in his boot-fhop;
Nor W- e'er could judge a tax
Like Betty at the frauit-fhop.

A bumper, ere our play begin!

You James, be Judge of Taxes."

Quoth Pitt" John Bull the faddle win;
A fig for blocks and axes!

"Thus,' faid Calonne, your taxes lay (Calonne did much respect us): Tax well the poor; we rich can pay

'So taxes don't affect us."

In Afric reigns a king most black;
I think it England's duty

Of feathers fine to buy a fack,
To give that fovereign footy.

i

"With neighbour kings by way of fight,
He carries on a brave trade;
Of Liverpool the chief delight-

The foul of all her flave-trade.
With this fupply, we red-caps dare;
Set freedom at defiance;

Macartney fhall thefe feathers bear—
To court his grand alliance!
We'll tax the rich-we'll tax the poor;
As Premier I decide it :-
Yes, he that 's down must all endure ;
Thofe up will ne'er abide it."
Now at the game fo warm they wax,
Each fets off like a rocket-

To try who could invent a tax,
Savoir-could pick a pocket.

Quoth Steele "Good Sirs, I humbly hope
On taxes you'll take my fenfe:-
poor man, that his mouth doth ope
To eat-must buy a license.”

Each

"A fiddle-office I'll fet up,"

Says Pol: "Pitt, though you flout one,

John Bull won't fleep, or bite, or fup

Or walk, or dance without one.”

Cries Reeves-" We yet (the Lord knows how}
May fubjects be to Katty:

Each man fhall let his whiskers grow

To look a Ruffian natty.

In Bow-ftreet dwells a rough Brown Bear;

The landlord is an Hector:

In honour of the Ruffian fair,

Sir, make him tax-collector!"

Cries Hal-" John may at patents huff, ways and means abufive;

Of

A patent I for making fnuff

Will have-and that exclufive. That nose that won't my fniskeen sniff Shall guinea pay per annum ;

Old ladies fhall my 'bacco whiff

I'll not excufe my grannum!"

" Your

Your tax the subject, Sir, may tease ;
I'll fet about it meekly,'

Said Grenville: "all, for leave to fneeze,
Shall pay a fhilling weekly."
Quoth Dudley-"Some at mine may pout
(I fcorn all partial winking):
The rich must take a license out-

To whistle when they're drinking."
"My tax," cries Stafford, "will furprise
John Bull when rous'd from fleeping:
I'll clap a ftamp upon his eyes-

And make him pay for peeping." Cries Windham-" País a rope of hay 'Crofs Fleet Street; by Jove's thunder, Each Briton will his ten-pence payFor leave to fcramble under." "Who backwards will get out of bed,"

Quoth Rose, "muft license take out :

By this, it comes into my head,

We fhall ten thoufands make out." Cries butler James- Moft fure I am, For taxes if you're puzzled,

John Bull, as quiet as a lamb,

Will let himfelf be muzzled.

"With furly face and head unflour'd,

Hair brown, or black as fweep's hide; His hat is brufh'd, his coat is scour'd

John Bull walks now through Cheapfide. Equality confounds the mass.

Of muzzle mark the fequel:

By it poor men will keep their class--
And rich men know their equal.'

"Amuzzle! muzzle!" roars the crew;
"John Bull fhal have a muzzle !"
The toaft around the table flew,

Whilst proud tokay they guzzle.

Quoth Hal" My butler's tax, no doubt,
Will muzzle half the nation :

You, Dudley, lay the forfeits out--
Upon fome bleft occafion,"

VOL. IV.

X

The

The fervant brought a paper in;
It was a poor petition: .

Each gentleman then rubb'd his chin:
This paper all cried “ Pish !” on.
Says Dudley" Mark my purpose good!
As Rockingham's old lady
Gives gentle dogs much dainty food,
When cook hath made it ready:
"This forfeit gold fhall chickens buy;
We'll nicely have them roafted;

As presents to her dogs, fay I,

Then off they fhall be pofted." And now a noife without was heard:

Pitt rage would have diffembled';
And Hal grew pale; and Spencer ftar'd;
And warlike Windham trembled!

John Bull it was! and in he talk'd:
His manus grafp'd a cudgel :
Great Dudley Ryder would have talk'd-
But that he now did judge ill.
"You, Pitt, in Commons I infift
On being reprefented!"

66

Quoth John; or, by this ftick and fift,
It shall be fore repented!

My Parliament but gives away

What 's not its own to give, Sir;

To ask is all you've got to lay;

Lucullus-like you live, Sir.

If war you want, go out and fight;
Here fafely fit carousing,

Whilft murder-hacks, with main and might,
Your air-built caufe efpousing!"

Cries Pitt-"I'm thin, John Bull; thou 'rt fat!
So thus here lies the thing now—

Right honeft John, take off thy hat,

And chaunt, God fave the King' now!

God fave the King and Nobles all,'

Let's drink: we've wine before us."

"od fave the King!" John Bull did bawl:Right loyal was the chorus.

THE

THE LITTLE ISLAND.

A NEW SONG: WITH ALTERATIONS AND ADDITIONS.

[From the Sun.]

I.

ADDY Neptune one day

DADD

To Freedom did say,

"If e'er I fhould live upon dry land,

The fpot I would hit on,

Should be little Britain.".

Says Freedom, "Why that 's my own ifland."
O it's a nice little ifland,
'Tis a tight little, right little inland.

11.

Julius Cæfar the Roman,
Who yielded to no man,

Came by water; he could not come by land
And Dane, Pict, and Saxon,

Their homes turn'd their backs on,

And all for the fake of the island.
O! it's a nice little ifland,

'Tis a right little, tight little ifland.

III.

Then another great war-man,
Call'd Billy the Norman,

Cried, "Hang it, I don't much like my land;

It would fure be more handy

To leave this Normandy,

And go to that beautiful ifland:

Shan't us go and vifit the island,
The right little, tight little ifland ?”

IV.

Then fays Harold the king,

As hiftories fing,

X 2

"While