A Ballad - While prose work and rhymes
While Prose-work and rhymes Are hunted for crimes, And things are - the devil knows how; Aware o' my rhymes, In these kittle times, The subject I chuse is a mow. Some cry, Constitution! Some cry, Revolution! And Politicks kick up a rowe; But Prince and Republic, Agree on the Subject, No treason is in a good mow. Th' Episcopal lawn, And Presbyter band, Hae lang been to ither a cowe; But still the proud Prelate, And Presbyter zealot Agree in an orthodox mow. Poor Justice, 'tis hinted Ill natur'dly squinted, The Process - but mum - we'll allow Poor Justice has ever For Cunt had a favor, While Justice could tak a gude mow. Now fill to the brim To her, and to him, Wha willingly do what they dow; And ne'er a poor wench Want a friend at a pinch, Whase failing is only a mow.