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Of all the young ladies I know This pretty young lady's the fairest; Her lips have the rosiest show, Her eyes are the richest and rarest. Her origin's lowly, it's true, But of birth and position we've plenty; We've grammar and spelling for two, And blood and behaviour for twenty!

Though the views of the House have diverged On every conceivable motion, All questions of Party are merged In a frenzy of love and devotion; If you ask us distinctly to say What Party we claim to belong to, We reply, without doubt or delay, The Party I'm singing this song to!

I'm very much pained to refuse, But I'll stick to my pipes and my tabors; I can spell all the words that I use, And my grammar's as good as my neighbours' As for birth—I was born like the rest, My behaviour is rustic but hearty, And I know where to turn for the best, When I want a particular Party!