Henceforth no Duke shall teach the throng,
With curry-powder warm and strong,
To cheer the labourers’ hearts.
“But I, for one, won’t vote supplies
To men who thus conspire
To lower the Duke in vulgar eyes,
And poke fun at the Squire.
I quit my country, doomed to death;
Hard soil, where first I drew my breath,
Where long I ruled the roast;