Hilaria: The Festive Board by Charles Morris - HTML preview

 

PAT-RIOT,
 A REVOLUTIONARY SONG.

 

I.

 

Och! my name is Pat Riot,

And I’m never easy;

For when all is quiet,

It turns my head crazy;

So to kick up a dust,

By my soul is delighting;

Then to lay it again,

I fall to without fighting.

 

Chorus—Row, row, row, row, row, row.

 

II.

 

Nought but times topsy turvy

Suit my constitution;

And all that I want, is

A snug Revolution:

Then in rank and in riches

I’ll equal my betters;

And a long list of creditors

Change into debtors.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

III.

 

I dare not be loyal,

For this loyal reason;

My tutor, Tom Paine,

Tells me loyalty’s treason:

And Priestley my Faith has

Shook to its foundation;

So I’ve no prospect on earth

But eternal damnation.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

IV.

 

In this plight I’ve a plan,

Tho’ it’s not ripe for broaching;

But between you and me,

’Tis a little encroaching;

By a stroke—slight of hand—

To surprize all beholders:

Why I mean to take off

The king’s head from his shoulders.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

V.

 

Then the crown, d’ye see,

I wou’d lay on a shelf, Sir;

Tho’ it fits me as if it

Was made for myself, Sir:

Och! good luck to the sound,

How the dumb bells will ring, Sir,

When I’ve made all men equal,

And made myself king, Sir!

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

VI.

 

Just to guard off th’effect

Of fell lightning and thunder,

That together split churches

And steeples asunder,

I mean to pull down

All old orthodox structures;

’Cause Priestley says chapels

Are Heaven’s conductors.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

VII.

 

To see chapels, from churches,

Like Phœnixes rising,

Good souls, the dissenters

Wou’d deem it surprising,

And, grateful to me,

They wou’d down on their knees too,

Who hate both a church

And a chapel of ease too.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

VIII.

 

Now the lands of the church,

That feed fat and lean preachers,

By their leaves, I’ll bestow

On the puritan teachers:

Of their tithes, and their off’rings,

And gifts, I’ll bereave ’em;

And nought but their stomachs

And consciences leave ’em.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

IX.

 

The law long establish’d

No longer shall bind me;

With my father before,

Or my father behind me,

I’ve nothing to do:

Then your bother pray cease, Sir;

I’ll lay down the law

By a breach of the peace, Sir.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

X.

 

Since the law and the gospel

I’ve taken by storm, Sir,

Physicians shall swallow

My pills of reform, Sir;

I’ll take off their wigs,

Canes, fees, and degrees;

And poison the rogues

With their own recipes.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

XI.

 

Since the Commons are cyphers,

The Lords but nick-names, Sir,

I mean to prorogue ’em

All into the Thames, Sir;

And, lest folks should say

I don’t humanely treat ’em,

Doctor Hawes and cork jackets

At Gravesend shall meet ’em.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

XII.

 

I’ll abolish all titles

Mankind may inherit;

From the fountain of honour,

Worth, virtue, and merit:

I’m a naked reformer:

The doctrine I preach, is

To take coats of arms off

Shirts, waistcoats, and breeches.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

XIII.

 

Thus age, youth, and beauty,

Miss, master, and madam,

All decently figg’d

By the taylor of Adam:

Why this is not new;

Because high and low station,

Were all in confusion

Before the creation.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

XIV.

 

By Jasus, to think how

’Twou’d tickle the devil,

To see from a mountain,

All things on a level;

For the devil’s a patriot

Not over nice, Sir,

And he hates all distinctions

’Twixt virtue and vice, Sir.

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.

 

XV.

 

Here’s long life after death

To all hot-headed fellows,

Who night and day work at

The devil’s big bellows:

What charming confusion,

What fine botheration,

To blow up the coals,

And extinguish the nation!

 

Chorus—Row, row, &c.