The praises of so great and good a king: Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham sing? The seasons as they roll; Spring, by her side Lechery and Lent, lay-folly and church-pride, By a rank monk to copulation led, A tub of sainted salt-fish on her head; Summer, in light transparent gauze array'd, Like maids of honour at a masquerade, 420 In bawdry gauze, for which our daughters leave The fig, more modest, first brought up by Eve, Panting for breath, inflamed with lustful fires, Yet wanting strength to perfect her desires, Leaning on Sloth, who, fainting with the heat, Stops at each step, and slumbers on his feet; Autumn, when Nature, who with sorrow feels Her dread foe Winter treading on her heels, Makes up in value what she wants in length, Exerts her powers, and puts forth all her strength, 430 Bids corn and fruits in full perfection rise, Corn fairly tax'd, and fruits without excise; Winter, benumb'd with cold, no longer known By robes of fur, since furs became our own; A hag, who, loathing all, by all is loathed, With weekly, daily, hourly, libels clothed, Vile Faction at her heels, who, mighty grown, Would rule the ruler, and foreclose the throne, Would turn all state affairs into a trade, Make laws one day, the next to be unmade, 440 Beggar at home, a people fear'd abroad, And, force defeated, make them slaves by fraud; All, one and all, shall in this chorus join, And, dumb to others' praise, be loud in mine. Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! rejoice; Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice, The voice of gladness; and on every tongue, In strains of gratitude, be praises hung, The praises of so great and good a king: Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham sing? 450 The year, grand circle! in whose ample round The seasons regular and fix'd are bound, (Who, in his course repeated o'er and o'er, Sees the same things which he had seen before; The same stars keep their watch, and the same sun Runs in the track where he from first hath run; The same moon rules the night; tides ebb and flow; Man is a puppet, and this world a show; Their old dull follies, old dull fools pursue, And vice in nothing, but in mode, is new; 460 He ---- a lord (now fair befall that pride, He lived a villain, but a lord he died) Dashwood is pious, Berkeley[158] fix'd as Fate, Sandwich (thank Heaven!) first minister of state; And, though by fools despised, by saints unbless'd, By friends neglected, and by foes oppress'd, Scorning the servile arts of each court elf, Founded on honour, Wilkes is still himself) The year, encircled with the various train Which waits, and fills the glories of his reign, 470 Shall, taking up this theme, in chorus join, And, dumb to others' praise, be loud in mine. Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! rejoice; Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice, The voice of gladness; and on every tongue,