What is a Whig? A cunning rogue
That once was in, now out of vogue:
A rebel to the Church and throne,
Of Lucifer the very spawn.
A tyrant, who is ne’er at rest
In power, or when he’s dispossess’d;
A knave, who foolishly has lost
What so much blood and treasure cost.
A lying, bouncing desperado,
A bomb, a stink-pot, a granado;
That’s ready primed, and charged to break,
And mischief do for mischief’s sake:
A comet, whose portending phiz
Appears more dreadful than it is;
But now propitious stars repel
Those ills it lastly did fortel.
’Twill burst with unregarded spight,
And, since the Parliament proves right,
Will turn to smoke, which shone of late
So bright and flaming in the State.
THE DESPONDING WHIG.
From Ned Ward’s Works, vol. iv. 1709.
When owles are strip’d of their disguise,
And wolves of shepherd’s cloathing,
Those birds and beasts that please our eyes
Will then beget our loathing;
When foxes tremble in their holes
At dangers that they see,
And those we think so wise prove fools,
Then low, boys, down go we.
If those designs abortive prove
We’ve been so long in hatching,
And cunning knaves are forced to move
From home for fear of catching;
The rabble soon will change their tone
When our intrigues they see,
And cry God save the Church and Throne,
Then low, boys, down go we.
The weaver then no more must leave
His loom and turn a preacher,
Nor with his cant poor fools deceive
To make himself the richer.
Our leaders soon would disappear
If such a change should be,
Our scriblers too would stink for fear,
Then low, boys, down go we.