The Whigg-Feast:
A SCOTCH BALLAD, made to the Tune
of a new and pleasant Scotch Dance.
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I.
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WOons! what noo is the matter?
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Gud feth tis wondrous strange,
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The Whigs do keep sike a clatter,
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That nean can pass th Exchange.
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They cry, Bread! tis pity
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Their Numbers are no more,
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The DUKE does dine in the City,
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And muckle they fear His Power.
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They begin the awd Trick agen,
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And cabal like Old-Nick agen,
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Feast three hundred pound thick agen,
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Sike a height they soar:
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Ah, bonny London! thou rt undone,
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If ere thou art in their power.
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II.
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Th wise old E--- with the Spigot,
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That nere knew rest or ease,
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Udsbread! is grown sike a Bigot,
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The Nation has his Disease.
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More o th Tribe I can name ye,
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That make this Raree-Show,
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Bold George, and Politique Jemmy,
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Converted by Doctor TO.
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Both the Sheriffs there should ha bin,
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Then how merry they would ha bin,
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Met for National Good agen,
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As they were before:
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Ah, bonny London! thou rt undone,
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If long thou art in their power.
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III.
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More to show us what Ninneys
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Are all rebellious Beasts,
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The Cuckolds sent in their Guinneys,
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To make this Jolly Feast.
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Never caring, or thinking,
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What Insolence was done,
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Or that their Plotting and Drinking
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Should ere be opposd so soon.
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But when they knew they were barrd agen,
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They sent out the Black Guard agen,
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All our Bonfires were marrd agen,
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Slaves did shout and roar:
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Ah, bonny London! thou rt undone,
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If ere thou art in their power.
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IV.
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Right and Royalty governs,
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Which Rebels would overthrow;
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They once were fatal to Soveraigns,
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Ah, let em no more be so!
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But to baffle Oppression,
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Inspird by Fate Divine,
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Defend the Crown and Succession,
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And keep it in the Right Line.
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Every Soldier will fight for it,
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Each bold Genius will write for it,
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And the Whigs hang in spite for it,
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Losing Regal Power:
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And, bonny London, theyre undone,
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That thought to usurp once more.
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