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 When they ride in their ſlippers, and walk about in boots, Sir. Such, &c.

Our language is refin’d too, from what ’twas of yore, Sir, As a ſhoe ſtring’s the dandy, and buckles quite a bore, Sir; And if rais’d from the dead, it wou’d ſure poze noddle, Sir, Of a Shakeſpere, to tell what’s the Tippy or the Twaddle, Sir. &c.

Then for props of the ſtate, what can equal in ſtory, Sir? Thoſe two ſtately pillars, call’d a Whig and a Tory, Sir, Though by ſhifting their ground, they ſometimes get ſo wrong, Sir, They forget to which ſide of the houſe they belong, Sir. Such are, &c.

But as props of their ſtrength, and uprightneſs may boaſt, Sir, Whilſt the proudeſt of pillars may be ſhook by a poſt, Sir; May the firm friends of freedom her bleſſings inherit, Sir, And her foes he advance’d to the poſt which their merit, Sir. Then ſhall the golden days we now poſſeſs, Far ſurpaſs the boaſted days of good Q. Beſs.

And the name Brunſwick, claims duty, love and awe, Sir,