To speak in these days,
Is to steal a few thoughts from Tom Paine, my Duke!
Now all the Whigs are sleeping, Duke,
But the mob, through the casement peeping, Duke,
At you and your star,
Which we really are
Surpris'd at your meanness in keeping, Duke!
Go home, your task is done, my Duke,
The watchmen's boxes shun, my Duke,
Or, in watching the flight