HUZZA FOR THE RULE OF THE WHIGS! Air --" Old Rosin the Beau. " All ye who are true to the altar and throne, Come join in this ditty with me; And you who don't like it may let it alone, Or listen a little and see. How quietly now we may sleep in our beds, And waken as merry as grigs; Though fears of rebellion hang over our heads, We're safe while we're ruled by the Whigs. In the 'nineties we saw (I remember the day) Revolution disguised as Reform; But the country was saved in a different way, By the Pilot that weather'd the storm. Our vessel was steer'd by the bravest and best, And, except a few quality sprigs, The whole English nation had thought it a jest To propose being ruled by the Whigs. But as matters now stand in this ill-fated realm, When old comrades will give us the slip, We are strangely compell'd to put men at the helm. To prevent them from scuttling the ship. Only think, for a moment, if Russell were out, How wild he'd be running his rigs! About popular rights he would make such a rout-- 'Tis lucky we're ruled by the Whigs. The Church--can you doubt what her danger would be Were Tories at present in power? Lord John, or his friends, we should certainly see Attacking her posts every hour. But as long as the Bishops may help out his lease, He won't injure a hair of their wigs; Nay, he even proposes the list to increase-- So huzza for the rule of the Whigs! If Grey were at large, how he'd lay down the law On the cures he for Ireland had found; And swear that he never would rest till he saw Her Establishment razed to the ground. But Grey, while in office, sits muffled and mum, Like a small bird asleep in the twigs; And Ward, in the Commons, is equally dumb-- So huzza for the rule of the Whigs! If any of us had made war on Repeal With the weapons that Clarendon tries, What shrieks of indignant invective from Shiel At the wrongs of Old Erin would rise. By millions of noisy Milesians back'd, From the peer to the peasant that digs-- How would Monaghan murmur that juries were pack'd!-- So huzza for the rule of the Whigs! On Aliens or Chartists to hear them declaim, You'd think Castlereagh come from the dead. Though the mixture of metaphors isn't the same, And the courage and coolness are fled. But the Whigs are becoming respectable men As any that ever kept gigs, They are practising now all they preach'd against then -- So huzza for the rule of the Whigs! Go on, my good lads--never think of retreat, Though annoy'd by a squib or a squirt; You're fulfilling the fate such impostors should meet, And eating your bushel of dirt Then swallow it fast, for your hour may not last-- We shall soon, if it pleases the pigs, Give your places to men of a different cast, And get rid of the rule of the Whigs!