And view the whole with pity and contempt. 
Alas! but here the vilest passions rule;
It is Seduction’s, is Temptation’s school;
Where vices mingle in the oddest ways,
The grossest slander and the dirtiest praise;
Flattery enough to make the vainest sick,
And clumsy stratagem, and scoundrel trick: 
Nay more, your anger and contempt to cause,
These, while they fish for profit, claim applause;
Bribed, bought, and bound, they banish shame and fear;
Tell you they’re staunch, and have a soul sincere;
Then talk of honour, and, if doubt’s express’d,
Show where it lies, and smite upon the breast. 
   Among these worthies, some at first declare
For whom they vote:  he then has most to spare;
Others hang off—­when coming to the post
Is spurring time, and then he’ll spare the most: 
While some demurring, wait, and find at last
The bidding languish, and the market past;
These will affect all bribery to condemn,
And be it Satan laughs, he laughs at them. 
   Some too are pious—­One desired the Lord
To teach him where “to drop his little word;
To lend his vote where it will profit best;
Promotion came not from the east or west;
But as their freedom had promoted some,
He should be glad to know which way ’twould come. 
It was a naughty world, and where to sell
His precious charge, was more than he could tell.” 
   “But you succeeded?”—­True, at mighty cost,
And our good friend, I fear, will think he’s lost: 
Inns, horses, chaises, dinners, balls, and notes;
What fill’d their purses, and what drench’d their throats;
The private pension, and indulgent lease, —
Have all been granted to these friends who fleece;
Friends who will hang like burs upon his coat,
And boundless judge the value of a vote. 
   And though the terrors of the time be pass’d,
There still remain the scatterings of the blast;
The boughs are parted that entwined before,
And ancient harmony exists no more;
The gusts of wrath our peaceful seats deform,
And sadly flows the sighing of the storm: 
Those who have gain’d are sorry for the gloom,
But they who lost, unwilling peace should come;
There open envy, here suppress’d delight,
Yet live till time shall better thoughts excite,
And so prepare us, by a six-years’ truce,
Again for riot, insult, and abuse. 
   Our worthy Mayor, on the victorious part,
Cries out for peace, and cries with all his heart;
He, civil creature! ever does his best
To banish wrath from every voter’s breast;
“For where,” says he, with reason strong and plain,
“Where is the profit? what will anger gain?”
His short stout person he is wont to brace
In good brown broad-cloth, edg’d with two-inch lace,
When in his seat; and still the coat seems new,
Preserved by common use of seaman’s blue. 
   He was a fisher from his earliest day,
And placed his nets within the Borough’s bay;