If noisy Tom should in the senate prate, That he would answer both for church and state; And, further to demonstrate his affection, Would take the kingdom into his protection: All mortals must be curious to inquire, Who could this coxcomb be, and who his sire? What! thou the spawn of him who shamed our isle, That traitor, assassin, informer vile. Though by the female side you proudly bring, To mend your breed, the murderer of a king. What was thy grandsire but a mountaineer, Who held a cabin for ten groats a year; Whose master, Moore, preserved him from the halter, For stealing cows, nor could he read the psalter. Durst thou, ungrateful, from the senate chase Thy founder's grandson and usurp his place? Just heaven! to see the dunghill dastard blood Survive in thee, and make the proverb good. Then vote a worthy citizen to gaol, In spite to justice, and refuse his bail. |