Yet salute you we must, ’cause you represent her: 
Nor can we forget, sir, that some of your line
Did with mildness and peace in this government shine. 
But of all your exploits, we’ll allow but one fact,
That your Grace has procured us a Popery Act. 
By this you may see that the least of your actions
Does conduce still the most to our satisfactions. 
And lastly, because in the year eighty-eight
You did early appear in defence of our right,
We give no other proof of your zeal to your Prince;
So we freely forget all your services since. 
It’s then only we hope, that whilst you rule o’er us,
You’ll tread in the steps of King William the glorious,
Whom we’re always adoring, tho’ hand over head,
For we owe him allegiance, although he be dead;
Which shows that good zeal may be founded in spleen,
Since a dead Prince we worship, to lessen the Queen. 
And as for her Majesty, we will defend her
Against our hobgoblin, the Popish Pretender. 
Our valiant militia will stoutly stand by her,
Against the sly Jack, and the sturdy High-flier. 
She is safe when thus guarded, if Providence bless her,
And Hanover’s sure to be next her successor. 
  Thus ended the speech, but what heart would not pity
His Grace, almost choked with the breath of the City!

BALLAD

To the tune of “Commons and Peers.”

    A WONDERFUL age
    Is now on the stage: 
I’ll sing you a song, if I can,
    How modern Whigs,
    Dance forty-one jigs,[1]
But God bless our gracious Queen Anne.

    The kirk with applause
    Is established by laws
As the orthodox church of the nation. 
    The bishops do own
    It’s as good as their own. 
And this, Sir, is call’d moderation.

    It’s no riddle now
    To let you see how
A church by oppression may speed;
    Nor is’t banter or jest,
    That the kirk faith is best
On the other side of the Tweed.

    For no soil can suit
    With every fruit,
Even so, Sir, it is with religion;
    The best church by far
    Is what grows where you are,
Were it Mahomet’s ass or his pigeon.

    Another strange story
    That vexes the Tory,
But sure there’s no mystery in it,
    That a pension and place
    Give communicants grace,
Who design to turn tail the next minute.

    For if it be not strange,
    That religion should change,
As often as climates and fashions;
    Then sure there’s no harm,
    That one should conform. 
To serve their own private occasions.

    Another new dance,
    Which of late they advance,
Is to cry up the birth of Pretender,
    And those that dare own
    The queen heir to the crown,
Are traitors, not fit to defend her.

    The subject’s most loyal
    That hates the blood royal,
And they for employments have merit,
    Who swear queen and steeple
    Were made by the people,
And neither have right to inherit.