610 Loyal Address of the King of the Beggars. 



True, their orators, 'od rot them ! 



Brawling in their House of Gotham ; 



Each place-hunting for himself, 



Longed to put you on the shelf: 

 Theirs the sting, but yours the honey, 

 Still you pocketed the money. 



Asses, could they think our line 

 Born on shopkeepers to shine ? 



Cobourg blood, and Cobourg grace 

 Lavished on the Cheapside race ; 

 Tribe of tinkers, tailors, tanners, 

 Gratis polished by our manners ! 



Phrenix of the Cobourg blood, 



Ages older than the flood ! 

 Statesman, warrior, saint and sage, 



Filling Europe's broadest page ; 



Expectation's cabbage rose, 



List to what your house propose. 



If your Highness steers for Greece, 

 Bringing back the golden fleece. 



Shall the rascal Capitani 



Think their Solomon a zany ? 



Shall they see you waste your guineas, 



Like the mob of English ninnies ? 



Brother, hear thy beggar band ! 



From our native plains of sand, 

 From our vinegar and meal, 



Hard to buy, but sweet to steal ; 



Ship our nakedness to Greece, 



We 're the lambs who want the Fleece. 



Here we 're ready, man and wife, 



To be pension'd for our life ; 

 Riding through the English million, 



Every man his own postilion ; 



Giving loyalty the swing, 



Beggars, round the beggars' king f 



But, if Lord Field-Marshal Nitre 



Finds that you can bite the biter, 



And on English ground you stay ; 

 Pop us on the Civil List ; 

 There a million won't be miss'd 

 So your House shall ever pray, 



&c. &c. c. 



