Half Whig, half Tory, like those mid-way things,
'Twixt bird and beast, that by mistake have wings;
A mongrel Stateman, 'twixt two factions nurst,
Who, of the faults of each, combines the worst--
The Tory's loftiness, the Whigling's sneer,
The leveller's rashness, and the bigot's fear:
The thirst for meddling, restless still to show
How Freedom's clock, repaired by Whigs, will go;
The alarm when others, more sincere than they,
Advance the hands to the true time of day.
By Mother Church, high-fed and haughty dame,
The boy was dandled, in his dawn of fame;
Listening, she smiled, and blest the flippant tongue
On which the fate of unborn tithe-pigs hung.
Ah! who shall paint the grandam's grim dismay,
When loose Reform enticed her boy away;
When shockt she he...