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Which has our Christian Nation long disgraced, Blasting the People's prospects and their brains To swell the Brewer's and Distiller's gains; The cause of its worst crimes, its woes, and rags, (Although the Press of modern progress brags); Which will be so, till Drink shops are demolished, And licenses for drinking are abolished. Let us awhile survey Society. Its customs, sins, and starch'd propriety, Its senseless trammels and observances. Its namby-pamby freaks and variances. Its rivalries in fashion and expense. Its affectation, flirtings, and pretence, Its scandal-mongers in their whispering groups, Its vain and pretty triflers and their dupes, Its rival coteries where hate and spite Are cherished with malevolent delight. Its counterfeit and real aristocrats. Its victimising sharpers and its flats. Its manifested mania for parade, In high-life equipages, and in trade. In titles, riches, furniture and dress. In all religious centres—and the Press: On every hand now we behold the tools