Song, on the Address of the Newcastle House of Lords, on Turning Out Lord North, and Mr Fox
When Royal G——e, on new year’s day,32
Had told his bishops, great and small,
What our wise Crows, last March did say,
“He fear’d Britannia’s sudden fall.”
For knaves determin’d on his doom;
Two of the worst were Fox and North,
These he displac’d, and in their room
Had station’d Pitt, and men of worth.
T’ assuage the sovereign’s grief and care,
And loyal feeling to express,
Imperial London’s duteous mayor,
Approach’d the throne with an address.
Counties, and towns, and boroughs too,
Throng’d thick, and their addresses paid,
Their prince to undeceive, and shew
How twice ten years he’d been betray’d.
Newcastle’s mayor, to virtue form’d,
(Charles the upright and the good;)
Whose hands refrain’d, and nobly scorn’d
To stain with transatlantic blood.
A temperate zeal, he did confess,
Became each lover of his king;
Then all join’d him in an address;
And thousands warmly did it sign.
A band more true, (what need of words?)
And of all loyal men the flower;
I mean Ned C——g’s house of lords,
Who prais’d each minister in power.
The fancy seiz’d! each noble peer,
Pushing the tankard foaming o’er:
(O had lord Umbrage but been here,
But we shall never see him more!)
Now fairly sat the sage divan,
And silence call’d to every box.
“Let’s thank our king, aye every man,
For turning out lord North and Fox.
We must confess it’s scarce seven years,
Since we address’d our royal sire;
And beg’d he’d scorn all whiggish fears,
And we would help to blow the fire.
War’s flame did blaze both far and near,
And Europe’s powers against us join’d:
Our fleets were beat, our armies fled,
We sued for peace, and bought it dear.
It’s true the whigs, these knavish rogues
All cried, our mischiefs North began:
But what care we for barking dogs;
For North was still the greatest man.
Our empire was too wide and great,
And too unwieldy—and what not!
But North, our tailor of the state,
Clip’d it, as Umbrage would a coat.
A truth from which we scorn to swerve.
The more we lose, the more we gain;
And trade and treasures only serve,
To foster pride, and care, and pain.
But ah, how vain is human hope!
Great North with spendthrift Fox has join’d:
(For this he well deserves a rope)
All fair professions are but wind.
Come then, my lords, stand forth like men,
The good old cause keep still in view;
And tell the k——g we do condemn
Old knaves, and will support the new.”
The house then rung with loud applause,
Fists, pipes, and smoke, their joy express.
A committee resolved was
To word, and draw up the address.
Th’ expence, agreed by numerous votes,
Attending this address of thanks;
Was all to be paid out in notes,
Of Sir James Duncan’s best of banks.
Notes
32 Alluding to the king’s reply to the b——’s address, usual on the first day of the year, expressive of a desponding prediction, truly alarming.