Sire—with indulgent smiles receive
The nation’s Representative,
Who humbly our requests make known
Low at the footstool of your throne:
Your Commons for the public weal
Anxious, and full of loyal zeal,
With duteous modesty we pray—
Put your old ministers away,
Your trusty friends and counsellers,
Your servants for a length of years:
Let all who love you, we insist,
Be instantaneously dismist,
Turn every man out of his place,
Far from your court, and presence chase,
And to supply the nation’s need,
Receive us Patriots in their stead,
Without reluctance or delay
Let this be done this very day,
This very day let this be done,
Or, Sire, we pluck you from your throne.
In vain against the stream you strive,
Or talk of your Prerogative,
As you coud Officers declare,
And give us either peace or war:
In vain you stubbornly rebel
Against the Power which can compel;
Prosperous we sail with wind and tide
Who have the Rabble on our side:
Vested in Them dominion see,
And bow to Legion’s Majesty,
A servant of the people, know
Your Masters have ordain’d it so:
Allow the Patriots then their hire,
Grant us the Places we require,
Give us the Titles we demand,
And we permit your throne to stand:
And while to us your court you pay,
And meekly our commands obey,
Subject to every Demagogue,
We all cry out GOD SAVE KING LOG!