Then lay down your arms, dear rebels—O hone!
Our king is the best man that ever was known,
And the greatest that ever was stuck on a throne:
His love and affection by all ranks are sought;
Here take him, my honies, and each pay a groat—
Was ever a monarch more easily bought?
In pretty good case and very well found,
By night and by day we carry him round:
He must go for a groat, if we can't get a pound.
Break the treaties you made with Louis Bourbon;
Abandon the Congress, no matter how soon,
And then, all together, we'll play a new tune.
'Tis strange that they always would manage the roast,
And force you their healths and the Dauphin's to toast;
Repent, my dear fellows, and each get a post:
Or, if you object that one post is too few,
We generous Britons will help you to two,
With a beam laid across—that will certainly do.
The folks that rebelled in the year forty-five,
We used them so well that we left few alive,
But sent them to heaven in swarms from their hive.
Your noble resistance we cannot forget,
'Tis nothing but right we should honour you yet;
If you are not rewarded, we die in your debt.
So, quickly submit and our mercy implore,
Be as loyal to George as you once were before,
Or I'll slaughter you all—and probably more.
What puzzled Sir Harry, Sir Will, and his brother,
Perhaps may be done by the son of my mother,
With the Sword in one hand and a Branch in the other.