And Minister of State:
With Bollingbrook, I swear adzooks,
Old England will be great.
We Farmers then, shall be fine Men,
And Money have good store;
Their Whigish Tax they'll have with a Pox,
When Monarchy's no more:
My Son I'm sure, will ne'er endure,
To pay their plaguy Funds;
'Tis with reproach, they ride in Coach,