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Air—Up and down frisky and fire away Pat.

Caliendrosus.
A plague o' such juries, they make such a pother,
And thus, by their folly, let pannels go free;

155

And still on some silly pretext or another,
Nothing is left for your Lordships and me.
Our duty, believe us,
Was not quite so grievous,
While yet we had hopes for to hang 'em up all;
But now they're acquitted,
O how we're out-witted,
We've sat eighteen hours here for nothing at all.

Chorus by the whole Bench.
Tol de rol, lol de rol, tol de rol, lol de rol,
Tol de rol, lol de rol, tol de rol, lol,
But now they're acquitted, &c.

(Mob without Huzza.)