Gor’d with many a ghastly wound,
Low the fam’d sir-loin is laid
And sinks in many a gulf profound.
Arise, arise, ye sons of glory,
Pies and puddings stand before ye;
See the ghosts of hungry bellies
Point at yonder stand of jellies;
While such dainties are beside ye,
Snatch the goods the gods provide ye;
Mighty rulers of this state,