The Whigs are strong—we’re beat to-night,
If friends won’t muster soon.
That Tory Members might be paid,
Were boroughs, taxes, titles made;
Fly—tell our friends the loaves are going,
The fishes fast away are flowing.
Oh! pray!—oh! pray.
The Whigs ne’er wove so strong a chain,
To bind our wrists, our places gain,
If we don’t break it soon.