Fly, like our friend, the black-faced blade,
Our long-tailed saint has taught his trade;
Through all our souls his precepts ran,
Since we, like imps and fiends, began
The people’s hearts to tear.
If Members game at White’s or Brookes
And will not vote to-night, odd zooks—
Office we shall ne’er return in,
Hell their recreant souls shall burn in.
Oh, pray! oh, pray!