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There's Quakers, New-lights, Independents,
Methodiſts, and ⟨twadlers⟩ too,
Thoſe Minions and Finions,
are they not a filthy crew.
Thoſe Hypocrites they live amongſt us,
our religion they deſpiſe,
Empty fools without foundation,
neither loyal, juſt, nor wiſe
Our Churchmen they are little better,
if the truth it were well known,
They take the King for Britain's head,
but part of's law they will not own.
'Tis brotherly love's gone from amongſt us,
neighbours they cannot agree,
They ſpend their money on the law,
and bring themſelves to poverty.
'Tis reck'ning, ſharping, and deceiving,
'tis hard to find a man that's juſt;
Becauſe they ſeldom find the way,
to pay the thing they take in truſt.
There's dicemen, ſhowmen mountain-ſailors,
people pretending to be dumb;
Fortune-tellers and quack-doctors,
by ſuch vagrants we're undone.
Our merchants buy up meal and corn,
beef and butter, and cur cheeſe,
Sends it out to foreign countries,
for to maintain our enemies.
