A TRIBUTE, &c, SONG

Proud Monarchs rais'd to wear a crown, Forget the power by which they hold it; They tread the passive subject down, And thirst for vengeance when they'er told it.

But, no more with blind submission— We'll read them o'er a new commission; The People's voice Shall be their choice, And tread beneath their feet—oppression.

And men forget that kings of old, Depending on their free election, Durst at their peril be so bold, To rule but as they had direction. But, no more, &c,

Or, if the king a SOT betrays, Or, if humane his disposition; Some minister assumes and sways, And robs to feed his own ambition. But, no more, &c.

Thus kings and ministers succeed, In either still the tyrant reigning; They suck the poor, and as they feed, Forbid the sufferer's conplaining.

But, no more with blind submission; We'll read them o'er a new commission— The people's voice Shall be their choice, And tread beneath their feet—oppression.