English poem
A TRIBUTE, &c, SONG
by Anonymous
Our fathers left a race of Kings, And we were glad to find them; O how we lov'd the pretty things! And laugh'd and ran behind them.
We laid our necks beneath their feet, So humble and so lowly; And they rode over as was mete, Still pleas'd to see our folly.
But warmly now our hearts incline, To rule the land without them; The MOULDY PARCHMENTS we resign, And from the globe we'll rout 'em.