Mary le More, a lamentable Irish song/George is the mildest king

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Mary le More, a lamentable Irish song (1808)
George is the mildest king
3273114Mary le More, a lamentable Irish song — George is the mildest king1808


GEORGE IS THE MILDEST KING

or

A New Touch on the Times.

GEORGE he is the mildeſt King
that ever ſat on Britain's throne;
Behold how wiſely he has acted,
to his ſubjects ev'ry one!

But we're of a rebellious nature,
and our minds are ne'er content;
Likewiſe, the moſt of our reflections
are on the King and Parliament.

There's Quakers, New-Lights Independents,
Methodiſts, and Swindlers too,
Thoſe minions and fanatics,
are they not a filthy crew?

Thoſe hypocrites that live amongſt us,
our religion they deſpiſe,
Empty fools, without foundation,
neither loyal, juſt, nor wiſe.

Our Church-men they are little better,
if the truth it were well known,
They take the King for Britain's head,
but part of his laws they will not own.

Brotherly love is out of faſhion,
neighbours they cannot agree;
They ſpend their money at the law,
and bring themſelves to poverty.

By racking, ſharping, and deceiving,
'tis hard to find a man that's juſt
Becauſe they ſeldom find the way
to pay the thing they take in truſt.

There's dice-men, ſhow-men, mounting ſailors
people pretending to be dumb,
Fortune-tellers, and quack doctors,
by ſuch vagrants we're undone.

Foreigners we do encourage,
ay, dear neighbour, this is truth;
Good Scots ale and highland whiſky
hath no reliſh in our mouth.

Brandy and rum we chooſe to drink,
and many coſtly things beſide,
There's nothing that appears amongſt us
but perfect poverty and pride.

Now obſerve the pride of women,
who they walk with ſuch an air,
With ribbons, ruffles, rings and fans,
capuchins, and foreheads bare.

Our ſervant-maids they are ſo proud,
they do reſemble their Ladies near,
They have ſo many madlike dreſſes,
they ſcarce can tell now what to wear.

Paints and patches for their faces,
in the faſhion they muſt be,
The pooreſt wife in all the town
each morning ſhe muſt drink her tea.

Our men are grown ſo void of reaſon,
they often leave their wedded wives,
Chuſing rather to keep a Miſs,
they're wearied of the married life.

Women for to leave their huſbands,
is not that a double ſin?
Enough to bring us on a judgement,
and conſume the land we're in.

(illegible text) grant us peace and unity,
for now the world ſeems at an end;
When each one hates and cheat another,
yea, tho' he were his near friend.


FINIS.



This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.

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