By SIR JOSEPH MAWBEY, BART.

STROPHE.

HARK!—to yon heavenly skies,
Nature’s congenial perfumes upwards rise!
From each throng’d stye
That saw my gladsome eye,
Incense, quite smoking hot, arose,
And caught my seven sweet senses—by the nose!

AIR—accompanied by the LEARNED PIG.

Tell me, dear Muse, oh! tell me, pray,
Why JOEY’s fancy frisks so gay;
Is it!—you slut it is—some holy—holiday!
[Here Muse Whispers I,—Sir Joseph.]
Indeed!—Repeat the fragrant sound!
Push love, and loyalty around,
Through Irish, Scotch, as well as British ground!

CHORUS.

For this BIG MORN
GREAT GEORGE was born!
The tidings all the Poles shall ring!
Due homage will I pay,
On this, thy native day,
GEORGE, by the grace of God, my rightful KING!

AIR—with Lutes.

Well might my dear lady say,
As lamb-like by her side I lay,
This very, very morn;
Hark! JOEY, hark!
I hear the lark,
Or else it is—the sweet Sowgelder’s horn!

ANTISTROPHE.

Forth, from their styes, the bristly victims lead;
A score of HOGS, flat on their backs, shall bleed.
Mind they be such on which good Gods might feast!
And that
In lily fat
They cut six inches on the ribs, at least!

DUET—with Marrow-bones and Cleavers.

Butcher and Cook begin!
We’ll have a royal greasy chin!
Tit bits so nice and rare—
Prepare! prepare!
Let none abstain,
Refrain!
I’ll give ’em pork in plenty—cut, and come again!

RECITATIVE.

Hog! Porker! Roaster! Boar-stag! Barbicue!
Cheeks! Chines! Crow! Chitterlings! and Harselet new!
Springs! Spare-ribs! Sausages! Sous’d-lugs! and Face!
With piping-hot Pease-pudding—plenteous place!
Hands! Hocks! Hams! Haggis, with high seas’ning fill’d!
Gammons! Green Griskins! on gridirons grill’d!
Liver and Lights! from Plucks that moment drawn
Pigs’ Puddings! Black and White! with Canterbury Brawn!—

TRIO.

Fall too,
Ye Royal crew!
Eat! Eat your bellies full! pray do!
At treats I never winces:—
The Queen shall say,
Once in a way,
Her maids have been well cramm’d—her young ones din’d like Princes!

FULL CHORUS—accompanied by the whole HOGGERY.

For this BIG MORN
GREAT GEORGE was born!
The tidings all the Poles shall ring!
Due homage will I pay,
On this, thy native day,
GEORGE! by the grace of God, my rightful KING!!!!