Another Election Ballad

Let the half-famish'd poet find fault with good cheer,
And, forc'd to drink water, despise our brown beer;
That there's truth in full bumpers, it can't be deny'd,
Then toss off your glasses—let truth be our guide!
Derry down, &c.

Poor Lewis, the little, full fatally knows,
That beef gives us courage to batter our foes;
And the sirloin (now knighted) that smokes on the board,
May in times of preferment be titled my Lord.
Derry down, &c.

Let the scribblers exclaim, they're a sinical tribe!
May not we, like our betters, sometimes take a bribe?
If cash does not circulate properly—trade
Grows lazy, and lags, like a founder'd old jade.
Derry down, &c.

But to banter no longer—our candidates seem
Men of honour, of worth, and of public esteem;
It were well for dame Britain, her freedom, and laws,
If such, and such only, e'er handled her cause.
Derry down, &c.

Let their free open spirits be right understood,
Their contest is meant for their countrymen's good;
When danger alarms us, or glory commands,
Our lives and our honours are safe in such hands.
Derry down, &c.

That they both have their merits it must be allow'd,
But sons of cool reason step forth from the crowd,
If weighty experience can ballance the day,
Give your voices, my boys, 'tis for S—e, huzza!
Derry down, &c.