BURKE's ADDRESS TO THE "SWINISH MULTITUDE."

Ye vile SWINISH herd, in the sty of taxation, What would ye be after—disturbing the nation? Give over your grunting—be off—to your sty! Nor dare to look out, if a king passes by: Get ye down, down—down, keep ye down!

Do you know what a king is? By Patrick I'll tell ye; He has power in his pocket to buy you and sell you; To make you his soldiers, or keep you at work; To hang you, and cure you, for ham or salt pork! Get ye down!

Do you think that a KING is no more than a man? Ye brutish, ye swinish, irrational clan! I swear by his office, his right is divine, To slog you, and feed you, and treat you like swine! Get ye down!

To be sure, I have said—but I spoke it abrupt— That "the state is defective, and also corrupt;" Yet, remember I told you with caution to peep, For swine at a distance we prudently keep— Get ye down!

Now the church and the state, to keep each other warm, Are married together. And where is the harm? How healthy and wealthy are husband and wife! But swine are excluded the conjugal life— Get ye down!

The state, it is true, has grown fat upon SWINE, The church's weak stomach on TYTHE-PIG can dine; But neither you know, as they roast by the fire, Have a right to find fault with the cooks, or enquire. Get ye down!

"What use do we make of your money?" you say; Why, the first law of nature:—We take our own pay— And next on our friends a few pensions bestow, And to you we apply when our treasure runs low. Get ye down!

Consider our boroughs, ye grumbling swine! At corruption and taxes, and never repine: If we only proclaim, "YE ARE HAPPY!"—They say, "We ARE happy."—Believe and be happy as they! Get ye down!

What know ye of Commons, of Kings, or of Lords, But what the dim light of Taxation affords? Be contented with that—and no more of your rout; Or a new proclamation shall muzzle your snout! Get ye down!

And now for the SUN—or the LIGHT of the Day; "It doth not belong to a PITT," you will say— I tell you be silent and hush all your jars, Or he'll charge you a farthing a-peace for the Stars. Get ye down!

Here's myself, and his darkness, and Harry Dund-ass; Scotch, English, and Irish, with fronts made of brass— A cord plated three-fold will stand a good pull, Against Sawney, and Patrick and old Johnny Bull!!! Get ye down!

To conclude, then, no more about Man and his Rights, Tom Paine, and a rabble of Liberty-lights; That your are but our "SWINE," if ye ever forget, We'll throw you alive to the HORRIBLE PITT! Get ye down, down—down, keep ye down!