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Now, to sum up all my cakes, and make 'em in one batch, sir,
May the devil that hard-cake, monopoly, once catch, sir;
In his oven, warm and deep, may he be bak'd secure, sir,
Whilst the wheat-cake may grow cheap, for to benefit the poor, sir.

(Speaking).
And there is not the least doubt of it, as long as we keep unanimous at home; and shou'd our enemies choose to be troublesome, why, I'll tell 'em this—

Our soldiers wou'd take heart, and our seamen too, I'm sartin,
Wou'd tell great Bonapart, it's all my eye and Peggy Martin.