'Twill cure all Electors and purge away clear
Dat mighty bad itching dey've got in deir hands--
'Twill cure too all Statesmen of dulness, ma tear,
Tho' the case vas as desperate as poor Mister VAN'S.
Dere is noting at all vat dis Pill vill not reach--
Give the Sinecure Ghentleman van little grain,
Pless ma heart, it vill act, like de salt on de leech,
And he'll throw de pounds, shillings, and pence, up again!
Vill nobodies try my nice _Annual Pill_, etc.
'Twould be tedious, ma tear, all its peauties to paint--
"But, among oder tings _fundamentally_ wrong,
It vill cure de Proad Pottom[1]--a common complaint
Among M.P.'s and weavers--from _sitting_ too long.
Should symptoms of _speeching_ preak out on a dunce
(Vat is often de case), it vill stop de disease,
And pring avay all de long speeches at vonce,
Dat else vould, like tape-worms, come by degrees!
Vill nobodies try my nice _Annual Pill_,
Dat's to purify every ting nashty avay?
Pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat I vill,
Not a Chrishtian or Shentleman minds vat I say!
[1] Meaning, I presume, _Coalition_ Administrations.
"IF" AND "PERHAPS."[1]
Oh tidings of freedom! oh accents of hope!
Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to Erin's blue sea,
And refresh with their sounds every son of the Pope,
From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donaghadee.
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