Do what they may, they're sure you'll not offend Men who have pledged their honours to your friend. Those friends indeed, who start as in a race, May love the sport, and laugh at this disgrace; They have in view the glory and the prize, Nor heed the dirty steps by which they rise: But we their poor associates lose the fame, Though more than partners in the toil and shame. Were this the whole; and did the time produce But shame and toil, but riot and abuse; We might be then from serious griefs exempt, And view the whole with pity and contempt. Alas! but here the vilest passions rule; It is Seduction's, is Temptation's school; Where vices mingle in the oddest ways, The grossest slander and the dirtiest praise; Flattery enough to make the vainest sick, And clumsy stratagem, and scoundrel trick: Nay more, your anger and contempt to cause, These, while they fish for profit, claim applause; Bribed, bought, and bound, they banish shame and fear; Tell you they're staunch, and have a soul sincere; Then talk of honour, and, if doubt's express'd, Show where it lies, and smite upon the breast. Among these worthies, some at first declare For whom they vote: he then has most to spare; Others hang off--when coming to the post Is spurring time, and then he'll spare the most: While some demurring, wait, and find at last The bidding languish, and the market past; These will affect all bribery to condemn, And be it Satan laughs, he laughs at them. Some too are pious--One desired the Lord To teach him where "to drop his little word; To lend his vote where it will profit best; Promotion came not from the east or west; But as their freedom had promoted some, He should be glad to know which way 'twould come. It was a naughty world, and where to sell His precious charge, was more than he could tell." "But you succeeded?"--True, at mighty cost, And our good friend, I fear, will think he's lost: Inns, horses, chaises, dinners, balls, and notes; What fill'd their purses, and what drench'd their throats; The private pension, and indulgent lease, - Have all been granted to these friends who fleece; Friends who will hang like burs upon his coat, And boundless judge the value of a vote. And though the terrors of the time be pass'd, There still remain the scatterings of the blast; The boughs are parted that entwined before, And ancient harmony exists no more; The gusts of wrath our peaceful seats deform, And sadly flows the sighing of the storm: Those who have gain'd are sorry for the gloom, But they who lost, unwilling peace should come; There open envy, here suppress'd delight, Yet live till time shall better thoughts excite, And so prepare us, by a six-years' truce, Again for riot, insult, and abuse. Our worthy Mayor, on the victorious part, Cries out for peace, and cries with all his heart; He, civil creature! ever does his best To banish wrath from every voter's breast; "For where," says he, with reason strong and plain,