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LABOUR IN VAIN.
A SONG, AN HUNDRED YEARS OLD.
To the Tune of "Molly Mogg."
YE patriots, who twenty long years
Have struggled our rights to maintain View the end of your labours and fears, And see them all ended in vain.
Behold! in the front stands your Hero,
Hear him rail at a tyrant and Nero;
Then see him attack a Convention,
That the Place-bill he got for the nation,
The substance is ended in vain.
His bloody and horrible vow,
Which once gave the Courtiers such pain,
No longer alarums them now,
For his threats are all ended in vain.
What though the Committee have found,
How certain would be our undoing,
Should the people their wishes obtain ?
Then to save us from danger of ruin,
He has ended our wishes in vain.
Then let us give thanks and be glad,
That he knew how our passions to rein, And wisely prevented the bad,
By ending the good all in vain.
We won't from our praises refrain;
And calls it the National Bane,
He rejects all employments and places,
In spite of his caution and care,
To avoid the appearance of gain, Say those Tories, his wife has a share,
And all is not ended in vain.
WHEN Phoebus coursing to the West,
His warmer beams withdrew;
Inviting kindly all to rest,
And bid the plains adieu;
As then in silence all things lay,
On Thames' delightful crystal stream, A dying Swan complain'd;
While sad departing love's her theme, mournful throat thus strain'd: