AIR IV.
[_]
Tune, “Peggy Benson.”
I
In the Church, where your dignifi'd doctors you find,
Such holy men refrain, son;
For, uplifted by us, and our offices kind,
Their sanctify'd pride they sustain, son.
II
Let governors thrive, and each Prince, on his throne,
In peace and plenty reign, son;
Till you find that by talents, and virtue, alone,
One man shall to honour attain, son.
III
Let Party in turbulent senates debate,
Nor matters it who shall gain, son;
Till you find that one act for the good of the state,
Shall have enter'd in either's brain, son.
IV
Let the law be your care, nor one tittle retrench,
But support each furr'd robe in its station;
For they, as our substitutes, sit on the bench,
To decide the affairs of the nation.
V
In Cities, tho' Czars of a pitiful sphere,
Would you know who would be our relation?
'Tis the Alderman's Worship, and sudden Lord Mayor,
Who struts through his yearly creation.
VII
Each fox-hunting justice and landlorded youth,
Are prone to your point, when they may, son;
For these, too, are little Grand Signiors, forsooth,
And Giants, each man in his way, son.
