A Whigg Ballad, or, a Summons to a Fresh Association

On Month of September we summon you All,
Our Summons is by our Good Lord Mayor's Call,
As you Love Common-Wealth, and Abhor White-Hall:
Which no body can deny.

Tho Vote for P—apillion and Weaver D—ubois
(The Whiggs thrice-beloved, not Citizens, Choice;)
No matter what Reason, so you make a Noise;
Which no body can deny.

(Ralph B—oy having, after a long Tory-Tugg,
Instead of a Druggist, himself prov'd a Drugg,
Paid Fine to a Lover of Dear Mother Mugg:)
Which, &c.

You All here are cited to Common-Hall Vote.
Each one to lift up his True Protestant Threat,
And bawl in Defyance of Men of good Note:
Which, &c.

These are therefore to summon each Eves-dropping Citt,
Who for a State-Holder has dubb'd himself fit,
And damns All that's Loyal without Fear or Wit:
Which, &c.

To Roar at Guild-Hall like Homerical Mars,
In defyance oth' Head, with regard to the A—rse
(Guild-Hall is your Stage, and Sedition your Farce.)
Which, &c.

Now after a Summons so Debonaire,
Held forth by Proprietour of the Chair,
We challenge All Whiggs to Guild-Hall to repair:
Which, &c.

For if half be True, that of late has been bruited,
The Rioting Whiglanders soon will be Routed,
As sure as Don Hornish by Bull was Cornuted:
Which, &c.

Then either born up by bold Holder forth,
You'l bravely confront your Deadly Foe North,
Contending like Men of True Protestant Worth:
Which, &c.

Or else, like Men-worthy, at Home you will Stay.
Solacing your Wives the Jack Pres-byter way;
If so, Good Old Cause must sing Well-a-day.
Which, &c.