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And rich and poor, and Whig and Tory,
In cellar deep, or lofty story;
Where'er my troops at my command
Shall swarm like locusts o'er the land.
(And they shall march from the North Pole
As far, at least, as Pensacole,)
So break off their communications,
That I can save their habitations;
For finding that Sir William's plunders,
Prove in the event apparent blunders,
It is my full determination,
To check all kinds of depredation ;
But when I've got you in my pow'r,
Favor'd is he, I last devour.
From him who loves a quiet life, And keeps at home to kiss his wife, And drinks success to king Pigmalion, And calls all Congresses Rabscallion, With neutral stomach eats his supper, Nor deems the contest worth a copper; I will not defalcate a groat. Nor force his wife to cut his throat; But with his doxy he may stay, And live to fight another day;