On the Decease of Horne Tooke

Horne Tooke is gone—rejoice and sing, Ye Placemen, and ye Tools of a King! He is gone!—then be his faults forgiven, And let us hope he’s gone to Heaven. That is a prayer you ought to make If not for love, for interest’ sake; For should he go to t’other place, Think how he’ll plague your hireling race.