For Francis Moore, whom we succeed,
Is very—very dead, indeed.
But should it prove a real ghost,
Who, with a Fool's-cap, takes his Post,
To grasp the Crown we've fairly got,
We warn him he shall go to Pot,
And in the Red Sea soon be laid;
Or to his warm berth posted back,
Where he'll be hotpress'd in a crack,
Unless his exit's quickly made;