Further allusions to the respective Houses of Stuart and Hanover may be detected in the plate, “Canvassing for Votes,” in the signs of the “Royal Oak,” _versus_ “The Crown.” All the taverns are pressed into the service of the candidates as a matter of course, the enterprising competitors striving to secure the preponderance of publicans, their interest, friends, and followers. “Tim Partitool, Esq.,” possibly a hit at Bubb Dodington, whose person, as sketched by Hogarth, may be identified in at least one picture of this series, is located at the “Royal Oak.” This enterprising gentleman, as depicted on his canvass, is nicknamed “Punch,” also indicative of Bubb’s unmistakable figure. A porter has brought two packages, evidently polling cards, inscribed, “Sir, your vote and interest;” one of these parcels is directed “at Punch’s, at the ‘Royal Oak’ Yard,” and to the candidate in question the bearer is presenting a note with the superscription, “Tim Partitool, Esq.” Above this gentleman’s head, and partly concealing the painted signboard of Charles II. in the oak, with the three crowns of the United Kingdom among the branches, is a pictorial poster in two compartments. In the upper one are shown the Treasury and Horse Guards, both burlesqued; while from the tall story of the former flows a stream of gold, which is being packed into sacks for conveyance by waggon into the country--there to be distributed for the purposes of bribery--to strengthen the party already in power, known as the Old Interest (their own). The way this is to come about is shown in the lower compartment of the painted cloth: “Punch, candidate for Guzzledown,” the _farceur_, with his protuberant rotundity of back and corporation, has a wheel-barrow before him, filled with bags of money, marked £7000 and £9000, and in all amounting to a considerable sum; he is casting about the broad-pieces in a shower from a ladle, and they are caught in the hats of expectant electors. “See from the Treasury flows the gold, To show that those who’re _bought_ are _sold_! Come, Perjury, meet it on the road-- ’Tis all your own--a waggon-load. Ye party fools, ye courtier tribe, Who gain no vote without a bribe, Lavishly kind, yet insincere, Behold in Punch yourselves appear. And you, ye fools, who poll for pay, Ye little great men of a day, For whom your favourite will not care, Observe how much bewitch’d you are.”