SONG, _On the Address of the Newcastle House of Lords, on turning out Lord North, and Mr Fox_. When Royal G----e, on new year’s day,[32] Had told his bishops, great and small, What our _wise Crows_, last March did say, “He fear’d Britannia’s sudden fall.” For knaves determin’d on his doom; Two of the worst were _Fox_ and _North_, These he displac’d, and in their room Had station’d PITT, and men of worth. T’ assuage the sovereign’s grief and care, And loyal feeling to express, Imperial London’s duteous mayor, Approach’d the throne with an address. Counties, and towns, and boroughs too, Throng’d thick, and their addresses paid, Their prince to undeceive, and shew How twice ten years he’d been betray’d. Newcastle’s mayor, to virtue form’d, (_Charles_ the upright and the good;) Whose hands refrain’d, and nobly scorn’d To stain with _transatlantic_ blood. A temperate zeal, he did confess, Became each lover of his king; Then all join’d him in an address; And thousands warmly did it sign. A band more true, (what need of words?) And of all loyal men the flower; I mean _Ned C----g’s house of lords_, Who prais’d each minister in power. The fancy seiz’d! each noble peer, Pushing the tankard foaming o’er: (O had lord _Umbrage_ but been here, But we shall never see him more!) Now fairly sat the sage divan, And silence call’d to every box. “Let’s thank our king, aye every man, For turning out lord _North_ and _Fox_. We must confess it’s scarce seven years, Since we address’d our royal sire; And beg’d he’d scorn all whiggish fears, And we would help to blow the fire. War’s flame did blaze both far and near, And Europe’s powers against us join’d: Our fleets were beat, our armies fled, We sued for peace, and bought it dear. It’s true the whigs, these knavish rogues All cried, our mischiefs North began: But what care we for barking dogs; For _North_ was still _the greatest man_. Our empire was too wide and great, And too unwieldy--and what not! But _North_, our tailor of the state, Clip’d it, as _Umbrage_ would a coat. A truth from which we scorn to swerve. _The more we lose, the more we gain_; And trade and treasures only serve, To foster pride, and care, and pain. But ah, how vain is human hope! Great _North_ with spendthrift _Fox_ has join’d: (For this he well deserves a rope) All fair professions are but wind. Come then, my lords, stand forth like men, The good old cause keep still in view; And tell the k----g we do condemn Old knaves, and will support the new.” The house then rung with loud applause, Fists, pipes, and smoke, their joy express. A committee resolved was To word, and draw up the address.