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THE PARODY. 43
Then plunder, my lads, for when red coats appear, You'll melt like the locust when winter is near; Gold vainly will glow, silver vainly will shine, But, faith, you must skulk, you no more shall purloin.
Then nod your poor numskulls, ye pumpkins, and bawl, The de'il take such rascals, fools, whoresons and all; Your cursed old trade of purloining must cease, The dread and the curse of all order and peace.
All ages shall speak with contempt and amaze, Of the vilest banditti that swarm'd in these days; In defiance of halters, of whips and of chains, The rogues would run riot,—fools for their pains.
Gulp down your last dram, for the gallows now groans, And, over depress'd, her lost empire bemoans ; While we quite transported and happy shall be, From mobs, knaves and villains, protected and free. |
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