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He rang'd thro' like a greedy thief,
Took butter, cheese, mutton and beef;
The puddings he did ſcarcely ſpare,
For every thing away he bare:
Of cloth and cloaths, ſilver and gold,
He took far more than can be told:
The blackeſt ſight that country ſaw,
Worse than Pate Bailey, or John Faw.
All his zeal was mixt with ſelf,
He very greedy was of pelf.
Yet all he took but ſhort time laſted,
The Whigs did ſay that it was blaſted;
For all his offspring that remain,
Have none of this well-gotten gain.
When I perceiv'd that it was gone,
I out of pity brought him home.
Now, Whigs may ſleep in a ſound ſkin,
They'll never get more ſkaith of him.
My friends that were of lower note,
In juſtice ſhould not be forgot,
As Aliſon, who here did dree
A hell on earth, for pleaſing me.
Bonſhaw, more fierce than I can tell,
Who bade ſom efound the Whigs to hell.
And my beloved Kennaway,
Who plagu'd the hill-men every day.
'Bove twenty journies in one year
Without either dread or fear,
This varlet willingly did go,
To haſten the fanaticks' woe.
Straban, Murray and Annandale,
Who in my cauſe had great zeal.
Drummond, Streton, and bloody Reid,
