An Act of Grace, the Poet's Release, by Mr. WORSDALE

Joy, Joy to all Mortals who got a Release, From their Prisons and Cares, by the new Act of Grace, Who from Bailiffs, and Spungers, and Straw-beds are freed, And may shake a loose Leg now on each side the Tweed. Derry Down Down.

Tho' our Creditors rail, we may heartily laugh, And a Health to both Houses of Parliament quaff, For the Parliament saw that those miserly Knaves, Being Slaves to their Money, would make us all Slaves. Derry Down Down.

Why should our Oppressors put poor Men in Goal, Who have not a Farthing, nor Friend to be Bail? And they're paid as they ought, when we're freed from our Debt, Since they had nothing to hope for and nothing they get. Derry Down Down.

What use is in Wealth but to purchase Content, Since Gold's but a Curse, if not pleasantly spent; Then a Fig for Confinement, tho' Fools make a Route, For if poor we're put in, and if poor we get out. Derry Down Down.

Adieu to all Jailors, those blood-sucking Elves, Who never can lock up such Rogues as themselves; They grind and oppress us, but yet I can tell, They'll be hamper'd by Satan, the Turn-key of Hell. Derry Down Down.

Pettyfoggers adieu, and all Quacks of the Law, Who plunder and rob us, yet keep us in Awe; Who for Money sollicit each villainous thing, And grow wealthy, while honester High-way-men swing. Derry Down Down.

Away then we'll go for our Country to fight, And venture where Danger and Honour invite; 'Tis glorious to die when with Foes we engage, But 'tis two Deaths in one for to starve in a Cage. Derry Down Down.

Then God bless our King and our Parliament too, And prosper the generous Schemes they pursue. Their true British Spirit we plainly may see, Is to humble Oppressors, and keep us all free. Derry Down Down.