OR THE ART OF RAISING VOTES
Of all the ale you drink, my friend,
Election serves the noblest end;
'Twill carry you with ardor through;
You'll vote yourself, and get votes too;
What man of spirit then would fail
Th' indulgence of Election Ale?

Our Constitution, God be thanked,
Is founded on the glass and tankard.
I own my rhyme is rather wrong,
But you may mend it with your tongue.
The remedy does not lie far hence;
You only need remove the r hence.

If an Election you would make,
This is the nearest road to take.
We all allow the higher class,
Like trout, are tickled with the glass;
Observe then, while your hand is in,
Keep tickling, and you're sure to win.

But when the num'rous fry are took,
Then with the tankard bait the hook;
For hungry fish, with joy elate,
Instantly snap the vulgar bait.
Th' appendages are knife and fork;
And cash compleats election work.
Whether for wine or ale they call,
The Candidate must pay for all.

My Lod, Sir Knight, the'Squire, we see,
As much in trade as you or me.
Our case exact alike we note,
I buy a ream, and he a vote;
And both as anxious are as any
Concern'd in trade, to turn the penny.
Like others to augment our gain,
We sell our ream, and vote again.
Nought but emolument consider
Dispose of both to the best bidder;
And sure no greater fault can lie in
The art of selling than of buying,
If masters, forty-nine in fifty,
Become, by perseverance, thrifty.

At an election, you may ken,
A Burgess is the first of men;
From consequence becoming bolder
Leans on the'Squire's humble shoulder;
Nay, of such value thinks his vote,
As to demand the'Squire's new coat.
The plunder'd'Squire, with downcast eye,
Dares do no other than comply;
Nay more, he must his thoughts beguile,
And treat the plunder with a smile.

His lips with sheer tobacco dyed,
The moisture oozing from each side,
Attempts, although he ne'er knew how,
To make a leg, and make a bow.
His clutches can't let beauty miss,
Cries 'Madam, I mun hav a kiss.'
Not quite so cleanly though, nor meet,
As when Tray fawns with dirty feet.
The sick'ning Lady in dismay,
Like her dear Lord, dares not say nay.

Ale mounts a beggar to command;
May shake a Marquis by the hand.
Nor must we here for order look;
A Blacksmith domineers a Duke.
Election ale, we truly sing,
Outstrips the mode of levelling;
Causes the mud to swim at top,
The water to the bottom drop;
As if we silver coin debase,
And dirty farthings take their place.
To Candidates it may give aches,
But'tis to Publicans--the wakes.
If 30 dine, the landlord strait
Can turn the 3 into an 8.
He quickly sees his pocket fill'd
For mutton that was never kill'd.
Fully expects a fortune got
From pepper, salt, and mustard-pot.
For every item that you call,
His cunning chalk remembers all;
In firmest league are hand and door;
No wonder he remembers more.
So I've observ'd, when he should work,
The stable-boy play with his fork:
Trail'd on the ground, you plainly see,
'Twill make two scores, and sometimes three.

His wretched tap-lash, all abhor,
Now finds a ready customer;
To which no name was given yet,
Only we're bound to say'tis wet
And brings, although none call it nice,
Not customers alone, but price;
The only time, we still maintain,
In which his dregs are turn'd to gain;
The only time, we make no doubt,
He ever cleans his cellar out;
And by a slight, not quite divine,
Converts the cleanings into coin.

Ale gives encouragement to labour;
It sets one man to fight his neighbour;
And he, perhaps, who fighting stands;
Has work enough upon his hands.
For seven long years bids hatred reign,
Till an election comes again;
And then the wounds, barely skin'd o'er,
Break out, and bleed as heretofore.

Shall wisdom this vile trade endure,
And not the state attempt a cure?
Desist from spiggots, knives, and forks;
Draw lots instead of drawing corks;
And then each class, quite through the nation,
Must act a part that suits their station.

Thus wonders, far surpassing thought,
Are by the potent barrel wrought.
Strong floods of ale through voters flowing,
Keep our politic wheels agoing;
And great St. Stephen's, much resorted,
Appears by barrel'd ale support'd.

THE SECOND PART

With liquor our first chapter shone;
The art of raising votes comes on.

Who would not drink till he was lost,
When he could drink at others cost?
His relish for the malt and hop
Wont suffer him to miss a drop;
Though like the pail beneath the spout,
Brim-full, whate'er flows in flows out.

John Gretton well could thrive by trade;
For many a leg he stockings made;
Produc'd two hundred pairs a week,
And yet he ne'er had legs to seek.

He from himself would not depart;
Emolument lay near his heart.
A few game cocks he made combine
To peck up clean his neighbours coin.
And yet it chanc'd, when ill-luck shone,
That now and then they lost his own.

His keen eye kept a sharp look-out
When profit e'er should float about;
And what the eye had fix'd upon
The hand knew how to make its own.
If neighbours quarrell'd, John knew law,
And could a little profit draw.
'The friend of both,' his only boast;
But friendly to himself the most.
A widower he was; his bride
One child had left; and stepp'd aside.
Perhaps she found a happier place
Than e'er she found in his embrace;
For John was so convinc'd her state
Was better than she held of late,
He ne'er, though she was from him rent,
Express'd a sigh of discontent.

Domestic cares were then convey'd
In total to the servant maid.

He could display, without much fearing,
His talent for electioneering.
Himself a Burgess, and he knew
Where ev'ry other Burgess grew.
If opposition started there
Could tell which member'd win the chair.
Such consequence could never fail
To add a weight to either scale;
Could lead up voters for his man;
Himself the Corporal of the clan:
Then muster more; return again;
Become the Serjeant of the train.

In seventeen hundred twenty-two
Baily and Cavendish we view,
As candidates of high renown
To represent old Derby town.
For half John pray'd, and drank, and swore;
Cry'd out huzza, and then drank more.

Of friendship near as much appears
In drinking as in lugging ears.
Nay, great philosophers decide
These noble arts are near allied.
Howe'er, in either case, we scan,
'Tis liquor constitutes the man;
Knows all things when compleatly mellow,
Except that he's a drunken fellow;
Can regulate the Corporation,
And lead the van in conversation.
His ears may be a little weak;
Can only ear his own tongue speak.

Nor can you well his hugs resist;
Or palming of his dirty fist.
Let me, in this case, win the day,
As Hudibras did--run away.

The members chair'd, the happy night
Was spent by moon and candle-light.
Not 'Church and King,' as now we quote,
But 'Church and Chev'rell' was the note.
The Presbyterians, they thought well,
With George the First to send to--.
The joyful voters crown the feast
With twenty thousand oaths at least.

The morn was usher'd by the cock;
The watchman cried 'past two o'clock,'
When they reluctantly confess'd
'Twas almost time to go to rest;
But there's no body, we presume,
Whose parts are scatter'd round a room.
Compleatly vanish'd, head and brain,
Can eas'ly muster them again.
Exactly will our case appear--
The man was lost, the body there.

In some the drink became unquiet,
And in the stomach bred a riot.
Then with the man began to quarrel,
And tried to run back to the barrel;
But after all its efforts o'er,
Could reach no farther than the floor;
But look'd as fine, you'd really think,
As when it first approach'd as drink.

Some famous heroes did not fail
To sink beneath the powers of ale;
While others, us'd to rant and roaring,
Began to change their note for snoring.

Some could not find their own abode,
But took a nap upon the road.
Where man and liquor disagreed
The last determin'd to be freed.
It did not rise, nor did descend,
Yet found a vent at either end.

A happier lot attended John,
His burthen he could carry on.
He found his door without disaster,
Gave a loud rap, much like a master.
But who would grudge a rap of pride
To leaders who sit side by side,
Of him for whom they rend the air,
And lift into the statesman's chair?

The maid in bed first heard the din,
And started up to let him in;
So willingly the latch to lift,
She went in nothing but her shift.
A servant-maid, in any state,
Should never let her waster wait.

John's spirits were in elevation;
Perhaps the maid's in expectation.
The mark was tempting, none were near,
And neither John nor she in fear.
For upstairs not a word was said,
Six 'prentice boys were fast in bed.
The moon herself was no ways rude,
But quite behind a cloud she stood;
Nor did she once, as if by chance,
Even attempt to steel a glance.
His distance Sol was sure to keep,
On Thetis's lap was fast asleep.
Two tedious hours must also fly,
'Ere he could rise and rub an eye;
Before along the heavens he'd creep,
And into people's windows peep;
Bring all their private acts in view
As our most saucy beggars do.
Old Night was mantled up in shade;
Nor were a goddess call'd to aid.
No green-grass, and no bed was near;
Neither were any wanted there:
For a convenience may be found,
When needful, on the thread-bare ground

Between the two, we must confess,
They muster'd up one only dress;
And as on her no covering shone
He kindly o'er her spread his own.

Now all the histories which I've read,
Declare 'each went to their own bed;'
And no more notice pass'd, it seems,
Than if they'd tasted Lethe's streams;
For he no amorous glances cast;
And she ne'er hinted what had pass'd.

Nine months, to consummate his joys,
Brought forth a pair of blooming boys;
Thus John by ale a vigil kept,
And rais'd two votes while others slept.