RECEIPT To get a Seat in the Grand Assembly

Assembly-mongers, mind October's near, The golden harvest comes but once a year; Begin your canvass,—bluster to the county, And swear mechanics should receive a bounty: (A tradesman's vote is equal to a lord's, 'Tis not the men or money, but their words.) Promise to mend the laws and raise the state, And in the public business toil and sweat; Be always sure you ever say enough— Gain but the seat, no matter how you puff; And libel freely all the junto round, In this experience oft' reward has found; Sensure the Censors, promise better rules, And call the Council—just a pack of fools. Whene'er the patriot fills thy breast with fire,— I mean the rage that money doth inspire;— Compose thy head and write a long address, In which all public good you must profess; Put in some hints of public service past, And, 'twixt ourselves, you here may safely blast— A broad bold phrase has often done a deal; Some thoughts and words from Junius you may steal, Mix'd with your own they'll pass for your inditing, And constituents mostly love good writing; Hard words are best, for then they think you learn'd, And wisdom only is by learning earn'd; 'Tis true, the critics may detect your stile, But you can palm these blockheads with a smile. Run to the papers, put it in them all,— Next week you find the county sends a call. Then swear again the honor is too great— But you accept it—just to save the state.

Then when the day of firey trial's come, Prepare your music, fiddle, fife and drum; Hire half the lawless blackguards in the town You'll get a number ready for a crown, Give each a pack of tickets in his hand, Be sure you place him in a proper stand, There bid him bawl at ev'ry passer-by, Call you a God!—No, that wou'd be a lie— Well, you'r Lycurgus—Aristides just, 'Tis such as you the public ought to trust; Bribe all the petty constables in town, To wheedle votes and gull the country clown- And last, take care their spirits well to cheer With grog and cakes and Reuben Haines's beer Tho' cyder's cheapest,—but it wants the fire, And grog or beer the voters best inspire— Now all is o'er, and tho' the toil was hard, Your seat and prospects are a great reward. Next day the public papers shew your name, And hail you foremost in the field of fame. Now that you'r in, observe what side has pow'r On that your praises and your favors show'r, But never mind the men that put you there, Make self and pelf your sole pursuit and care, For this, secundem artem, is the way To get in office and increase your pay.

Now party sticklers choose their tool to vote, Were't ev'n to cut the Constitution's throat; They call him quite the Cic'ro of the house, Altho' his sense was never worth a louse; Their ends but gain'd they care not for the state, Nor who is high or low, nor mean or great.