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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, Behind him his patriot train;
Hear him rail at a tyrant and Nero;
Yet his railing all ended in vain.
Then see him attack a Convention,
What pity such noble contention
And spirit should end all in vain!
That the Place-bill he got for the nation,
For now 'tis a clear demonstration,
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,
Yet wiser than they may compound,
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,
By ending the good all in vain.
About Brutus let Rome disagree,
We won't from our praises refrain ; Our Brutus has more cause than he
To declare even virtue in vain.
Three thousand five hundred a year,
His scorn of such filth is most clear,
Corruption he hates like a toad,
And calls it the National Bane,
Yet damn'd Ts, his virtue to load,
He rejects all employments and places,
And thinks ev'ry pension a stain; Yet T-s, with their damn'd sly faces, Say, that all is not ended in vain.
In spite of his caution and care,
THE EXPIRING SWAN,
ON LOSING HER MATE.
Written in 1741.
Tune "The Dying Swan."
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,
Bright Luna's charms display'd, The Goddess deck'd in silver ray, Supply'd the day decay'd.
On Thames' delightful crystal stream,