Before there was never such pulling and tearing, The tales that was told was really unbearing, Such bawling, such pushing, such talking, & swearing, To prove that young Windham was mad. Because he thought proper to marry a wife, sir, Because he was happy and cheerful through life, sir, ’Twas money, the money, that caused the strife, sir, But young Windham has conquer’d them all. Sometimes he would Mackney be imitating, I wish I was with Nancy! he oft would be stating, In the Strand, in the Strand! as I am relating, And then they all swore he was mad. Because on the engine he went fast and slow, now, And with the ladies he used for to go now, Then holloa like winking, Bob Ridley, O! now, Well, but that wouldn’t make him be mad. Not far from St. James’s some coveys were dwelling, They such wonderful tales to the jury was telling, And there was a lot that was named Llewellin, Who spun a most wonderful yarn. That sometimes he was naked, & drunk too, I vow, sir, That he crowed & moll rowed, & kick’d up a row, sir, And wetted sometimes the back part of his trousers, And they swore to be sure he was mad. Now young Windham has conquered them all, and is right, sir, He may fight, drink and sing, be enjoying his pipe, sir, And he with his money can do as he likes, sir, He has licked the old soldier right well. The weeping old soldier is beat, he is done, sir, He may slip on his knapsack and follow the drum, sir, Or march thro’ the country, and shoulder his gun, sir, It’s a chance if he doesn’t go mad. Through all the set speeches of Montague Chambers, If he carried the day we should all be in danger, They’d have made us all mad, and there’s nothing more stranger, But into the madhouse we’d go! Oh, the money, the money, they wanted the money, And that was the thing made the parties feel funny, There was rough tales, and smooth tales, and tales told like honey, But it didn’t make young Windham go mad. Here’s success to the jury who acted so clever, Do you think they’d be bias’d, oh no, they would never, Drink their health in a bumper, may they live for ever, And we hope they will never go mad. When the trial was over, young Windham not fear’d them, And the public as soon as ever they near’d him, Hurrah’d him right well, and so heartily cheer’d him, And declar’d that he never was mad. H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London. THE OLD MARQUIS And His Blooming Wife. [Illustration] Oh, here’s a jolly lark, Some strife perhaps there may be, A Marquis had a wife, Oh, such a blooming lady; She married him they say, For title, and remember, ’Twas lovely Miss May, And old Mister December.