Page:Bon-Accord Sangster.pdf/4

 With your passions all inflamed and your reason laid aside,

You may take some stranger by the hand and fancy her your bride.

Or when Bacchus leads the way, will you think amid the noise,

That the pleasure you are seeking all my happiness destroys;

For your frolic and your wit, perhaps, their leader you may be—

To me such honour is disgrace—such laughter, misery:

But had I a voice of thunder to shake St. Stephen's dome,

I'd have no brandy from abroad, no whisky made at home;

Or if Statesmen license Publicans to vend the "mountain dew,"

Let the men who make the paupers be compelled to keep them too!

Commotion, commotion is seen far and near,

The surges are thund'ring-hearts failing for fear;

The sceptres are trembling-crowns nod to their fall,

And monarchy staggers at anarchy's call.

The Pope, that has war against Freedom long waged,

Is now like a bird in the Vatican caged,

Tho' late as the great Liberator revered-

But he's a wise warlock that kens his ain weird.

As Britons, we Liberty's blessings would crave,

Tho' none knows in what he is held as a slave-

Yes; free to be lazy and get up a strike,

Then live on our neighbour and do what we like!

Equlity, too, is the sum of our song,

But righted to-day, ere to-morrow we're wrong;

For one drops his cash in the Savings' Bank's till,

While another melts his in the Publican's gill.