Here’s to the beer-taps that run, Sir.
Let the Bill pass, &c.
Here’s to the Candidate, pure as the snow,
With an agent as black as a berry;
Here’s to the wife with a face full of woe,
And here’s to the bribe makes her merry.
Let the Bill pass, &c.
For let them be clumsy or cautiously trim,
Snug or open, I care not a feather;
So fill all the pewter-pots up to the brim,