PAT-RIOT,
A REVOLUTIONARY SONG.
I.
Och! my name is Pat Riot,
And I’m never easy;
For when all is quiet,
It turns my head crazy;
So to kick up a dust,
By my soul is delighting;
Then to lay it again,
I fall to without fighting.
Chorus—Row, row, row, row, row, row.
II.
Nought but times topsy turvy
Suit my constitution;
And all that I want, is
Then in rank and in riches
I’ll equal my betters;
And a long list of creditors
Change into debtors.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
III.
I dare not be loyal,
For this loyal reason;
My tutor, Tom Paine,
Tells me loyalty’s treason:
And Priestley my Faith has
Shook to its foundation;
So I’ve no prospect on earth
But eternal damnation.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
IV.
In this plight I’ve a plan,
Tho’ it’s not ripe for broaching;
But between you and me,
’Tis a little encroaching;
By a stroke—slight of hand—
To surprize all beholders:
Why I mean to take off
The king’s head from his shoulders.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
V.
Then the crown, d’ye see,
I wou’d lay on a shelf, Sir;
Tho’ it fits me as if it
Was made for myself, Sir:
Och! good luck to the sound,
How the dumb bells will ring, Sir,
When I’ve made all men equal,
And made myself king, Sir!
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
VI.
Just to guard off th’effect
Of fell lightning and thunder,
That together split churches
And steeples asunder,
I mean to pull down
All old orthodox structures;
’Cause Priestley says chapels
Are Heaven’s conductors.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
VII.
To see chapels, from churches,
Like Phœnixes rising,
Good souls, the dissenters
And, grateful to me,
They wou’d down on their knees too,
Who hate both a church
And a chapel of ease too.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
VIII.
Now the lands of the church,
That feed fat and lean preachers,
By their leaves, I’ll bestow
On the puritan teachers:
Of their tithes, and their off’rings,
And gifts, I’ll bereave ’em;
And nought but their stomachs
And consciences leave ’em.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
IX.
The law long establish’d
No longer shall bind me;
With my father before,
Or my father behind me,
I’ve nothing to do:
Then your bother pray cease, Sir;
I’ll lay down the law
By a breach of the peace, Sir.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
X.
Since the law and the gospel
I’ve taken by storm, Sir,
Physicians shall swallow
My pills of reform, Sir;
I’ll take off their wigs,
Canes, fees, and degrees;
And poison the rogues
With their own recipes.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
XI.
Since the Commons are cyphers,
The Lords but nick-names, Sir,
I mean to prorogue ’em
All into the Thames, Sir;
And, lest folks should say
I don’t humanely treat ’em,
Doctor Hawes and cork jackets
At Gravesend shall meet ’em.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
XII.
I’ll abolish all titles
Mankind may inherit;
From the fountain of honour,
I’m a naked reformer:
The doctrine I preach, is
To take coats of arms off
Shirts, waistcoats, and breeches.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
XIII.
Thus age, youth, and beauty,
Miss, master, and madam,
All decently figg’d
By the taylor of Adam:
Why this is not new;
Because high and low station,
Were all in confusion
Before the creation.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
XIV.
By Jasus, to think how
’Twou’d tickle the devil,
To see from a mountain,
All things on a level;
For the devil’s a patriot
Not over nice, Sir,
And he hates all distinctions
’Twixt virtue and vice, Sir.
Chorus—Row, row, &c.
XV.
Here’s long life after death
To all hot-headed fellows,
Who night and day work at
The devil’s big bellows:
What charming confusion,
What fine botheration,
To blow up the coals,
And extinguish the nation!
Chorus—Row, row, &c.