The Speech

Whereas, notwithstanding I am in great pain,To hear we are making a peace without Spain;But, most noble senators, 'tis a great shame,There should be a peace, while I'm Not-in-game.The duke show'd me all his fine house; and the duchessFrom her closet brought out a full purse in her clutches:I talk'd of a peace, and they both gave a start,His grace swore by G--d, and her grace let a f--t:My long old-fashion'd pocket was presently cramm'd;And sooner than vote for a peace I'll be damn'd.But some will cry turn-coat, and rip up old stories,How I always pretended to be for the Tories:I answer; the Tories were in my good graces,Till all my relations were put into places.But still I'm in principle ever the same,And will quit my best friends, while I'm Not-in-game.When I and some others subscribed our namesTo a plot for expelling my master King James,I withdrew my subscription by help of a blot,And so might discover or gain by the plot:I had my advantage, and stood at defiance,For Daniel was got from the den of the lions:I came in without danger, and was I to blame?For, rather than hang, I would be Not-in-game.I swore to the queen, that the Prince of HanoverDuring her sacred life would never come over:I made use of a trope; that "an heir to invite,Was like keeping her monument always in sight."But, when I thought proper, I alter'd my note;And in her own hearing I boldly did vote,That her Majesty stood in great need of a tutor,And must have an old or a young coadjutor:For why; I would fain have put all in a flame,Because, for some reasons, I was Not-in-game.Now my new benefactors have brought me about,And I'll vote against peace, with Spain or without:Though the court gives my nephews, and brothers, and cousins,And all my whole family, places by dozens;Yet, since I know where a full purse may be found,And hardly pay eighteen-pence tax in the pound:Since the Tories have thus disappointed my hopes,And will neither regard my figures nor tropes,I'll speech against peace while Dismal's my name,And be a true Whig, while I'm Not-in-game.

When a holy black Swede, the son of Bob,With a saint at his chin and a seal at his fob,Shall not see one New-Years-day in that year,Then let old England make good cheer:Windsor and Bristol then shall beJoined together in the Low-countree.Then shall the tall black Daventry BirdSpeak against peace right many a word;And some shall admire his coneying wit,For many good groats his tongue shall slit.But spight of the Harpy that crawls on all four,There shall be peace, pardie, and war no moreBut England must cry alack and well-a-day,If the stick be taken from the dead sea.And, dear Englond, if ought I understond,Beware of Carrots from Northumberlond.Carrots sown Thynne a deep root may get,If so be they are in Somer set:Their Conyngs mark thou; for I have been told,They assassine when younge, and poison when old.Root out these Carrots, O thou, whose nameis backwards and forwards always the same;And keep thee close to thee always that nameWhich backwards and forwards is almost the same.And, England, wouldst thou be happy still,Burn those Carrots under a Hill.

Ireland till it was brought in by Lord Chesterfield in 1752, was thenObserved in most parts of Europe. The bishop set out from England theLatter end of December, O. S.; and on his arrival at Utrecht, by the