AN OLD DITTY FOR NEW TIMES
... our roses, But Whigs cam like a frost in June, And wither'd a' our posies, Awa Whigs, aws, Awa Whigs, awa! Ye're but a pack o' traitor loons, Ye'll ne'er do good at a. Our sad decay in Church and State Surpasses my describing; The Whigs cam o'er us for ...