Gazette Of The United States, & Philadelphia Daily Advertiser

From the Farmer's Weekly Museum.
FROM THE SHOP OF
MESS. COLVIN & SPONNER
A NEW SONG,
To the tune of "O dear what can the matter be"
As sung with great applause at Congress Gardens.
Come honest folks of Congress, pray do not be so
With your well borns, and ill borns, pray do not be poking me,
For what you call complaisance always is-choking me;
If you know me, pray how should it fail :
For Och blood anouns, what can the matter be,
That Congress wich high blood all should full fat-
ten'd be;
O grammachree, you had better have rattan'd me,
I'm bother'd from head to the tail.
When fir I bog trotted to Congress, dear Spaiker;
I thought a Rep, like a pig, was a liberty creature,
Who might nuzzle and grunt in his own pretty
And quarrel like felons in jail;
But Och blood anouns, what can the matter be,
with breeding and complaisance thus to be patter me,
And thus to be putting the gentleman arter me;
I'm bother'd from head to the tail.
A nd as to this answer here to our ould Preident
why can't we all carry it, while we are here resident?
For fait, my politeness shall ne er draw a precedent;
To the old owl myself will turn tail ;
For Och blood anouns, what can the matter be,
That to bow and to scrape you will so flatter me,
And on both sides of the House thus to bother and
I'm bother'd, Fait, how should I fail.
With your high blood and well born, pray do no
more rack us;
But hear that sweet soul, honest Horace O'Flaccus,
Who says that good blood will most damnably
Och honies, O how should it fail !
But Och blood anouns what can the matter be,
That Congress with high blood should thus ail fat-
ten'd be?
O gramachree, you had better have rattan'd me;
I'm bother'd from head to the tail.
Here is I my own self, who was born of my mother
A hale hearty wench, and my father's another,.
Whose blood ran as low as the wash of a gutter ;
Och honies, O how should it fail!
Then Och blood anouns what can the matter be,
Ihat with your high blood you still will be spatter me;
I fear my dear blarney's you are after, to slatter me;
I'm bother'd from head to the tail..
My father ne'er hang'd a witch of a woman,
Or beat a poor bailiff who made Sunday common,
For why, his own self, was tuck'd up at Rocom-
Och honies, O how should he fail !
But Och bloud anouns what can the matter be
That with ould Noll Cromwell you will thus be-
patter me
And give me more daddies than ever went after me;
I'm bother'd from head to the tail.
Did you know how I fought on the sweet Onion
It would cause all your bowels to caper and quiver,
With my big wooden sword : daddy Gates was the
giver,
Och honies, O how should I fail ;
Och blood anouns, what can the matter be,
That in your two ditches you will thus be patter me,
I'm sick of your nonsense and long to be scatter ye ;
I'm bother'd from head to the tail.
Now take take your fine speeches and all go and
Let the house go before, master speaker precede
While I'll stay behind, like a owl that loves free-
Och honies, O how should I fail;
Och blood anouns, what can the matter be,
Tnat with your civilities, thus you'll be patter me,
Fait honies, you can't to a GENTLEMAN slatter me,
You are bother'd from head to the tail.