From the Town-hall they issue forth,
With Eunuch at their head;
Lazarus the Banker followed him,
You'd have thought they wanted bread.
Next one from beggar's blood that sprung,
To opulence grown is he;
And struts along with iron rod,
And swears you shan't be free.
A tawny Smith was of the gang,
And others as well as he;
They've neither house nor land in town,
Yet want your property.
A brazen face with empty skull,
In Dibden's Tour well known;
That cares not what he does or says,
So that the poor's o'erthrown.
Sly Foxes too with silly hopes,
Expect to have their share;
Of all the Common-right you have,
Their pockets for to spare.
Lo! deep in thought as Tragic Muse,
With dagger to stab behind;
Lo! another as bad as he,
And much of the same kind.
The Scribbling kind with parchment roll,
For you to sign away,
The Right you have upon Nun's-Green,
Their charges to defray.
There are many others of the gang,
As bad as bad can be;
That lie, fawn, and threat, and use deceit,
To get your property.
Old Shot-bag he has chang'd about,
That his Mills may go shot-free;
Some others too have done the same,
Such worthless men there be.
But all's a blank that they have done,
If you but true will be;
To the first promise that was made,
The friends to liberty.