The public till,
I much regret to say, is looking ill;
For Canada and China, and the Whigs—no, no—
Some other prigs—have left the cash so-so:
But as our soldiers and our tars, brave lads,
Won’t shell out shells till we shell out the brads,
Her Majesty desires you’ll be so kind
As to devise some means to raise the wind,
Either by taxing more or taxing less,
Relieving or increasing our distress;