III. Mighty Sov'reign! Mighty Master! George is content with lath and plaister! At his own palace-gate, In a poor porter's lodge, by Chambers plann'd, See him with Jenky, hand in hand, In serious mood, Talking! talking! talking! talking! Talking of affairs of state, All for his country's good! Oh! Europe's pride! Britannia's hope! To view his turnips and potatoes, Down his fair Kitchen-garden's slope The victor monarch walks like Cincinnatus. See, heavenly Muse! I vow to God 'Twas thus the laurel'd hero trod-- Sweet rural joys! delights without compare! Pleasure shines in his eyes, } While George with surprize, } Sees his cabbages rise, } And his 'sparagus wave in the air!
IV. But hark! I hear the sound of coaches, The Levee's hour approaches-- Haste, ye Postillions! o'er the turnpike road; Back to St. James's bear your royal load! 'Tis done--his smoaking wheels scarce touch'd the ground-- By the Old Magpye and the New, } By Colnbrook, Hounslow, Brentford, Kew, } Half choak'd with dust the monarch flew, } And now, behold, he's landed safe and sound.-- Hail to the blest who tread this hallow'd ground! Ye firm, invincible beefeaters, } Warriors, who love their fellow-creatures, } I hail your military features! } Ye gentle, maids of honour, in stiff hoops, Buried alive up to your necks, Who chaste as Phoenixes in coops, Know not the danger that await your sex! Ye Lords, empower'd by fortune or desert, Each in his turn to change your sovereign's shirt! Ye Country Gentlemen, ye City May'rs, Ye Pages of the King's back-stairs, Who in these precincts joy to wait-- Ye courtly wands, so white and small, And you, great pillars of the State, Who at Stephen's slumber, or debate, Hail to you all!!!
V. Now, heavenly Muse, thy choicest song prepare: Let loftier strains the glorious subject suit: Lo! hand in hand, advance th' enamour'd pair, This Chatham's son, and that the drudge of Bute; Proud of their mutual love, Like Nisus and Euryalus they move, To Glory's steepest heights together tend, Each careless for himself, each anxious for his friend! Hail! associate Politicians! Hail! sublime Arithmeticians! Hail! vast exhaustless source of Irish Propositions! Sooner our gracious King From heel to heel shall cease to swing; Sooner that brilliant eye shall leave its socket; Sooner that hand desert the breeches pocket, Than constant George consent his friends to quit, And break his plighted faith to Jenkinson and Pitt!
