Of all the Damn'd Plagues that fell- Egypt upon Sir,
If you Count, to compare with a Whigg you'll find none Sir;
But yet a Whigg-Clergyman's far more a Monſter.
Theſe Judas's to Chriſt, make Religion a Jeſt,
Exceeding ingratiouſly both Bird and Beaſt;
Like thoſe, none of them e're Be---this own Neſt.
One of theſe Preach't of late in Republican Fashion,
For which he had Thanks in the Name of the Nation ;
Upon which he Defends the R------ Oration.
With his Friend Mr. B—, the ſame Office he takes;
To the Fire together they an Offering make,
They'd been better ſerv'd were they plung'd in the J—s.
If a late Petition had had the ſame Fate,
That Scandal'd a Churchman and diſpleas'd the State,
To the Loyal it wou'd Satisfaction create.
'Tis but Juſt that the Doctor ſhol'd keep his Old Station,
Since he 'as honeſtly ſerv'd both the Queen and the Nation,
And ſince his Foes cou'd not prove their Allegations,
Now what do theſe get who thus trim to all Seaſons ?
(All Men hate the Traytor tho' they love the Treaſon)
They'r the Tories Hate, and Whiggs Scorn with good Reaſon.
Now with ſome good Wiſhes our Song we will Encloſe Sir;
More Manners to thoſe, who their Rulers oppoſe Sir ;
Converſion to all our good Friends at the Roſe, Sir.
Which no body can deny.
F I N I S.
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