I've in Chancery put him ;-he ne'er can appeal,
Since sentence against him has pass'd the Great Seal.

The church-bell it rang;-hied the Curate away,
Glad enough to escape with old ladies to pray,
And "Deliver us"-'tis thought in his Litany cried-
"From Conveyancers, Lord, and the Devil beside !"

But when he got home and had wetted his whistle,
Of the noble Law-Lord, in respectful epistle,
To be told if his Lordship's opinion-he pray'd-
Had been by this Conveyancer truly convey'd.

And, whate'er you may think on't, with great conde

scension

To his query my Lord gave immediate attention;

And absolv'd from all censure the church of Q****'s

Square:

For his Lordship-God bless us !—had never been there !!!

And obligingly deign'd to inform him beside;
For a seat at the Foundling he ne'er had applied!
And to worship his Maker his Lordship's research
Was confin'd to the pale of his own parish church.—

Then for LYING John H******y who cares a straw?
Let the Tail of the church bless the Head of the law.
And may Providence-mending their morals and din-

ners

From Conveyancing Saints guard all Clerical Sinners!

Derry down, &c.

THE NOBLE SANS-CULOTTE.

A BALLAD,

IN HONOUR OF A CERTAIN EARL

WHO STYLED HIMSELF

A SANS-CULOTTE CITIZEN,

IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS.

RANK, character, distinction, fame,

And noble birth forgot,

Hear Stanhope, modest Earl, proclaim
Himself a Sans-Culotte !

Of pomp and splendid circumstance

The vanity he teaches;

And spurns, like Citizen of France,

Both coronet and breeches.

But, thrown away on lordly ears,
His counsel none attend:

No pattern take his brother Peers
By Stanhope's latter end.

Let Commoners for Britain's weal
Their patriot bottoms bare:

Lords are no Sans-Culottes :-they veil
That part with special care.

They vaunt aristocratic tails

In silk and velvet, 'dight:

And, well accoutred, each assails
With taunts a naked wight.

"At one end, says the noble Peer, "No breeches I retain:

"From this confession we infer "At t'other end no brain.

"Whoe'er alike unfurnish'd views

"Both nether end and upper,

"May swear there's not a pin to choose

""Twixt pericrane and crupper."

But what care WE for lordly spies,

A ministerial band,

The nakedness who scrutinize

Of Opposition land?

What tho' they deem us poor and bare, Like those lean kine EgyptianPatriots there are who breeches wearWhen paid for by Subscription.

With nature's buff (tho' Buff and Blue
Be scant) provided each is:
No fustian if our bottoms shew,

There's plenty in our speeches.

Nay, what if brains and breeches fail,
Let's hear no more about 'em ;

Since Stanhope, ay, and L*****dale,
Can make a shift without 'em.

Say, for what purpose and intent
Are brains and breeches fit?
Breeches to hide our shame are meant,

Brains serve to shew our wit.