[Illustration: The ROASTED EXCISEMAN or The JACK BOOT’S EXIT.] I give one of the ballads printed on this occasion: it is entitled, “The Scotch Yoke, and English Resentment. To the tune of _The Queen’s Ass_.” Of Freedom no longer let Englishmen boast, Nor Liberty more be their favourite Toast; The Hydra Oppression your Charta defies, And galls English Necks with the Yoke of Excise, The Yoke of Excise, the Yoke of Excise, And galls English Necks with the Yoke of Excise. In vain have you conquer’d, my brave Hearts of Oak, Your Laurels, your Conquests are all but a Joke; Let a rascally Peace serve to open your Eyes, And the d--nable Scheme of a Cyder-Excise, A Cyder-Excise, etc. What though on your Porter a Duty was laid, Your Light double-tax’d, and encroach’d on your Trade; Who e’er could have thought that a Briton so wise Would admit such a Tax as the Cyder-Excise, The Cyder-Excise, etc. I appeal to the Fox, or his Friend John a-Boot, If tax’d thus the Juice, then how soon may the Fruit? Adieu then to good Apple-puddings and Pyes, If e’er they should taste of a cursed Excise, A cursed Excise, etc. Let those at the Helm, who have sought to enslave A Nation so glorious, a People so brave, At once be convinced that their Scheme you despise, And shed your last Blood to oppose the Excise, Oppose the Excise, etc. Come on then, my Lads, who have fought and have bled, A Tax may, perhaps, soon be laid on your Bread; Ye Natives of Worc’ster and Devon arise, And strike at the Root of the Cyder-Excise, The Cyder-Excise, etc. No longer let K--s at the H--m of the St--e, With fleecing and grinding pursue Britain’s Fate; Let Power no longer your Wishes disguise, But off with their Heads--by the Way of Excise, The Way of Excise, etc. From two Latin words, _ex_ and _scindo_, I ween, Came the hard Word Excise, which to _Cut off_ does mean. Take the Hint then, my Lads, let your Freedom advise, And give them a Taste of their fav’rite Excise, Their fav’rite Excise, etc. Then toss off your Bumpers, my Lads, while you may, To Pitt and Lord Temple, Huzza, Boys, huzza! Here’s the King that to tax his poor Subjects denies, But Pox o’ the Schemer that plann’d the Excise, That plann’d the Excise, etc.