XII.
Your Missives you send round about
With Mr. Speaker's Letter,
To fetch Folks in, and find Folks out,
Which Fools believe without dispute,
Because they know no better.
XIII.
With borrow'd Ships, and hir'd Men,
The Irish to reduce,
Who will be paid the Lord knows when;
'Tis hop'd whene'er you want again,
You'll think of that Abuse.
XIV.
Ye laid sham Taxes on our Malt,
On Salt, on Glass, on Leather,
To wheedle Coxcombs in to lend;
And like true Cheats, you dropt that Fund,
And sunk them all altogether.
XV.
And now y'are piously enclin'd
The Needy to employ;
You'd better much your time bestow
To pay neglected Debts you owe,
Which makes them multiply.
XVI.
Against Prophaneness you declar'd,
And then the Bill rejected;
And when the Arguments appear'd,
They were the worst that e'er were heard,
And best that we expected.