University of Virginia Library

Was thinking, had Lord S---dm---th got
Any good decent sort of Plot
Against the winter-time—if not,
Alas, alas, our ruin's fated;
All done up, and spiflicated!
Ministers and all their vassals,
Down from C---tl---gh to Castles,—
Unless we can kick up a riot,
Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet!
What's to be done?—Spa-Fields was clever;
But even that brought gibes and mockings
Upon our heads—so, mem.—must never
Keep ammunition in old stockings;
For fear some wag should in his curst head
Take it to say our force was worsted.
Mem. too—when Sid an army raises,
It must not be “incog.” like Bayes's:
Nor must the General be a hobbling
Professor of the art of cobbling;
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns,
Should say, with Jacobinic grin,
He felt, from soleing Wellingtons ,
A Wellington's great soul within!
Nor must an old Apothecary
Go take the Tower, for lack of pence,
With (what these wags would call, so merry,)
Physical force and phial-ence!
No—no—our Plot, my Lord, must be
Next time contriv'd more skilfully.
John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing
So troublesomely sharp and knowing,
So wise—in short, so Jacobin—
'Tis monstrous hard to take him in.