THE
MERCHANT,
A-LA-MODE.
To the Tune of Which no body can deny.
|
ATtend and prepare for a Cargo from Dover,
|
Wine, Silk, Turnips, Onions, with the Peace are come over,
|
Duke d'Aumont has brought (to make room for a Rover)
|
Which no body can deny, deny; which no body can deny.
|
A swagg'ring Crew rode a Horseback before him,
|
He threw out his Cash, that the Mob might adore him;
|
So Tag-rag and Bob-tail made up the Decorum,
|
Which etc.
|
Our Great Men they bought with Pensions and Tattles,
|
Our Genral they had hir'd to fight no more Battles.
|
And the Rabble they wheedle with Shillings and Rattles,
|
Which etc.
|
The Train is made up with the Scum of St. Germain,
|
Priest, Porters, and Fidlers, Pimps, Laqueys and Chairmen,
|
Who are all the Great Whore of Babylons Vermine,
|
Which etc.
|
His House is a Chappel, where the Jesuites range;
|
'Tis a Court for our Statesmen, and yet, which is strange,
|
'Tis a Tavern, a Wharehouse, a Garden, a Change,
|
Which etc.
|
The Q--- had a present we know very well:
|
But we must to Market, as all Folks can tell;
|
For they that can buy, they also can sell,
|
Which etc.
|
Here Barons may talk, and Squires may fuddle,
|
The House can provide both Tobacco and Bottle;
|
They've a Seat for your Bum, and a Pipe for your Noddle,
|
Which etc.
|
But these Parcels of Wine that go by Retale,
|
Come unluckily over, to hinder the Sale
|
Of his Brother D. H-----ns Barrels of Ale,
|
Whinh etc.
|
Here's a Number of Superfine Onions, which shows
|
That the Merchant who sells them has ground to suppose
|
His Trade lay with some that are led by the Nose,
|
Which etc.
|
Then out came the Silks, and the musty Brocades,
|
That the Liv'ry of France may be laid on the Maids,
|
A good Preparation for Wild-Irish Plads,
|
Which etc.
|
What a jumble of Sounds do we hear all together,
|
From Trumpets and Fiddles, to the Clangs of a Cleaver,
|
Confounded with the Groans of Spittle-field Weaver?
|
Which etc.
|
To raise up a Mass-house they're making great Haste;
|
But when all this Raree-Show-Musick is past,
|
Poor England must pay the Piper at last,
|
Which etc.
|
What pity 'tis now that Gregg was truss'd up,
|
Had he liv'd to this time, there was reason to hope
|
He had come in for a Ribon instead of a Rope,
|
Which etc.
|
The Duke that he wrote to wou'd have giv'n him fair Quarter,
|
And so wou'd the E---l for whom he was Martyr;
|
But he he got the Halter, and R------n the Garter,
|
Which etc.
|
O Lewis, at last, thou hast plaid the best Card,
|
Lay Hero's aside, and Tricksters reward,
|
Thou hast got by d'Aumont what thou lost by Tallard,
|
Which etc.
|
Remove all the War to Versailles and to Marly,
|
'Tis Fighting more surely, tho' somewhat unfairly,
|
What a Churchil has won, is restor'd by a H----y,
|
Which etc.
|
May the great Hand of Justice now brandish it self
|
On 'em all in a lump, from that double tipp'd Elfe,
|
To the fag-end of Peerage, the last of the Twelve,
|
Which etc.
|
Hast, Hannover, over, and rescue our Laws
|
From a Rascally Medley of Cowards and Foes,
|
Whores, Cuckolds and Fools, Bauds, Bullies and Beaus,
|
Which etc.
|
|
|
|
|
|