For t'other side are near the door; Nor will their conscience deem it sin, To guzzle all, if once they're in. Reader, perhaps thy peaceful mind Is not to noise or blood inclin'd; Then, lest some hurt should happen quick, For see a sword! and many a stick! We'll leave this inn, with all my heart, And hasten to the second part. CANTO II. CANVASSING _for_ VOTES. Free'd from the madness of the throng, Now, gentle Reader, come along; A broken head's no clever joke-- Sir, welcome to _The Royal Oak_; Together let us look about---- We'll find that Show-cloth's meaning out. Satire! 'tis thine, with keenest dart, To shoot the follies of the heart; And, issuing from the press or stage, Reclaim the vain, the culprit age! From _Rich's_ dome, of grand renown, To thatch-torn barn, in country town; From _Garrick_, monarch of his art, To _Punch_, so comical and smart; Satire delights, in every sphere, To make men laugh at what they _are_: "Walk in, the only show in town; _Punch_ candidate for _Guzzle-down_!" There see the pile, in modern taste, On top with tub-like turret grac'd! Where the cramp'd entrance, like some shed, Knocks off the royal driver's head; Lives there a Wit but what will cry, "An arch so _low_ is mighty _high_!" See from the Treasury flows the gold, To shew that those who're _bought_ are _sold_! Come, Perjury, meet it on the road, 'Tis all your own; a waggon-load. Ye party-tools, 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! Yet hush!--for see his Honour near;-- Truly, a pretty amorous leer: The ladies both look pleasant too; "Purchase some trinkets of the _Jew_." One points to what she'd have him buy; The other casts a longing eye; And _Shylock_, money-loving soul, Impatient waits to touch the cole: But here's a Porter; what's the news?-- Ha, ha, a load of billet-doux! Humbly to sue th' Electors' favour, With vows of _Cato_-like behaviour; And how the Borough he'll espouse, When once a Member of the House: Though wiser folks will lay a bet, His promises he'll then forget. But pray your Honour condescend An eye on kneeling _Will_ to lend; Grant to the fair the toys they chuse, And what the letter says, peruse: "To _Timothy Parti-tool_, Esquire."-- Your title may in time be higher.