burns,
the tories, whigs, give way by turns;
but fate the word has spoken:
for woman's wit and strength o'man,
as! do but what they ;
the tory ranks are broken.
o that my een were flowing burns!
my voice, a liohat mourns
her darling cubs' undoing!
that i might greet, that i might cry,
while tories fall, while tories fly,
and furious whigs pursuing!
what whig but melts food sir james,
dear to his try, by the names,
friend, patron, beor!
not pulteney's wealth pulteney save;
and hopetoun falls, the generous, brave;
Election Ballad(9/11)