hundred snakes writhing in horrid circles round her head, menacing destruction to every true friend of Civil and Religious Order-who can view without horror the ravages of her destructive reign-Murder, Desolation, Famine, and Rapine are the blessings which, with bounteous hand she lavishes on her infatuated votaries. The widow's tears, the Orphan's cries, the shrieks of Virgin innocence and beauty immolated at the shrine of Cruelty and Lust-the tender form of Youth, and the hoary head of venerable Age expiring beneath the ruffian hand of legal Assassination and blood thirsty Rage

-the Laws of Nature broken through, and her most sacred Ties violated and trampled upon~~ the Throne stained with Royal Blood-the Crown torn from the head of it's lawful possessor, and placed upon the brows of Murder and Rebellion the Peace of Society for ever destroyed by the accursed doctrine of Equality-the Basis of Religion undermined and annihilated.

These, these are the Trophies of her Victories— these the Laurels that are entwined around her Brows- these the Oblations that are offered on her Altars and such be the Rewards of her deluded Votaries.

Let us, thankful for the blessings we enjoy, be unanimous in this important Cause-let us hail with transports of joy the ever memorable day which frees us from the yoke of Civil Tyranny, and restores to us the invaluable Privilege of maintaining the true Interests of our Country, without running the risk of being sacrificed at the polluted shrine of Democratic DespotismFear not the feeble efforts of your humbled adversaries-reduced to the last shifts to support their expiring Tyranny, they have had recource to such resources as betray the weakness of their Cause,

and while they expose them to contempt and ridicule, excite the indignation of every just and honest man.

The moment arrives which shall crown your endeavours with success, and stamp your victory compleat. Should the base designs of your enemies be carried into execution, the Glories of your Native Country must for ever sink in infamy; and the Free-born Briton, crouching beneath the yoke of foreign Despotism, bending to the imperious will of those who once trembled at his Name! lose, for ever lose, his boasted independence, in the abhorred shackles of inglorious Slavery!

May the gracious Providence of Heaven avert such dreadful calamities from our beloved Country! May the fierce Catiline, who dares to plant his standard in the heart of our city, plotting our destruction within our walls, and kindling the fire of Sedition in our streets, checked in his impetuous career, find that, though our illustrious Senate grant their reverend sanction to his impious cause and traiterous views, we still possess a Consul armed with sufficient energy and power to pluck the Birchen laurels from his adamantine brows; despising the lying puffs of his slanderous pen, the harmless report of his inoffensive pistol, or the heart-appalling smack of his self-approved H----p! And, O may the sacrilegious violators of the peace of society be feelingly convinced that there still remains in this Country sufficient vigilance and spirit to crush the enemies of its peace in their base attacks upon its Laws and Independence!

Nil desperandum, &c.

S. S. L.

The Devil's Visit to the Corporation.

A NEW SONG.

TUNE AND CHORUS-Derry down.

AS the Devil was roving on last New Year's day,
He kindly took Nm Town in his way;
And with an unusual gay smile on his face,

Cried, Sure my first visit is due to this place.

As soon as 'twas dark, to Jos B's he goes, And at his approach, with great reverence, all rose, He greeted their worships with congees profound, And they each in return bowed down to the ground.

Right Trustees, and so forth, good year to you
all,
Quoth Satan, I first on my best friends must call---
How's Old Sawney, & Srunkin, their worships begun,
Very well, and in hope they shall see you all soon.

Old Treakletub offer'd his chair for to yield,
By no means, says Satan, 'tis very well fill'd;
If you won't have this place, his worship reply'd,
You shall sit by my right hand, I won't be deny'd.

Old Ben he advanced much nearer his guest,
Because that his hearing is none of the best;
For two of them being just baulk'd of that place.
Discontented sat down with despair in their face.

Then the rest of the crew, in their turn each drew near,

And Bullneck the lawyer well fill'd up the rear;

With a smile in his face he did vow and protest,

That in due time he'd serve him as well as the best.

The Devil with rapture, took hold of his hand,
And cry'd here's a pattern, the best in the land;
Tho' he, as a cloak, to the meeting oft went,
I know that Religion was not hi intent.

Your Highness, cry'd Bullneck, is quite in the right,
I'll be d-d if I'd go, if I got nothing by't;
At this they shook hands, and each went his way,
With a promise there visit ere long to repay.

THE SONG OF FREEDOM.

Addressed to the Electors of Nottingham.

In the dark-frowning sky, on the banks of the Trent,
See the blue-dawn of Liberty rise;

While conquer'd Corruption flinks off with a groan,
And before Independence's adamant throne,
The demon Coercion fast flies.

Rear the standard aloft, let it pierce the high heaven!
That the people surrounding may see,

The poor, the despis'd, have the power to resist;
And lifting on high the immanacled wrist,

That they dare to be upright and free.

Tho' Oppression may curb ye, and raise in your breasts
The indignant emotion awhile;

Yet soon each will lay his free hand on his heart,
And say, "I have acted an Englishman's part,"
And look on the past with a smile.

But, oh! for the crew, who will crouch to receive
The proud foot of Pow'r on their necks;

Let them know, as they deal out the wages of scorn,
They are forging the chains which their babes yet unborn
Will enslave and eternally vex.

Tell them too, that their forefathers bled to secure
To the poor and the virtuous man,

Those noblest of Rights, which they thus barter down;
And then let them try their reflections to drown,
And then let them laugh, if they can.

But for ye, my brave brethren, who spurn at the Bribe,
And the Threat with defiance still meet;

Be ye firm, and let nothing your triumph decrease;
But march, by the banners of Order and Peace,

To olive-crown'd Victory's seat.

Squib against the Corporation.

A NEW SONG.

TUNE-The Golden Days of Good Queen Bess.

Ar a Town in the North, there's a curst Corporation,
Of Jacobin Scrubs as any in the Nation,

Who laid sculls together to find out a Birch, Sir,
To put the poor Loyalists quite in the lurch, Sir,

Fal lal lu, &c.

They call'd in the assistance of Wimbledon Bob, Sir,
As dirty a scrub as e'er wore a nob, Sir,

Doctor Grim, Charley Diamond, and Citizen M-y-r, Sir,
Who swore they would put all things out of square, Sir,
Fal lal la, &c.

They made a great hubbub with tri-colour'd flags, Sir,
Pure virgins in white, and citizens in rags, Sir,
With music so charming, playing Milions be free,' Sir,
And to keep up the farce, planted Liberty's Tree,' Sir.

Fal lal la, &c.

To play off some tricks, and to cajole the Freemen,
They retain'd Sir Bullface, and Citizen Squeez'em,

Stephen Swearwell, and Sh---1-w--th, and more of the crew, Sir,
Who from the Devil and Black-rod soon got their due, Sir.

Fal lal la, &c.

What a pity it was Mr. Diamond got loose, Sir,
Ten thousand to one, he's reserv'd for a noose, Sir,
May he die as he lives, by good men abhor'd, Sir,
We Britons beseech thee to hear us good L--d, Sir.
Fal lal la, &c.