A Ballad [While prose work and rhymes]

While Prose-work and rhymes
Are hunted for crimes,
And things are - the devil knows how;
Aware o' my rhymes,
In these kittle times,
The subject I chuse is a mow.

Some cry, Constitution!
Some cry, Revolution!
And Politicks kick up a rowe;
But Prince and Republic,
Agree on the Subject,
No treason is in a good mow.

Th' Episcopal lawn,
And Presbyter band,
Hae lang been to ither a cowe;
But still the proud Prelate,
And Presbyter zealot
Agree in an orthodox mow.

Poor Justice, 'tis hinted
Ill natur'dly squinted,
The Process - but mum - we'll allow
Poor Justice has ever
For Cunt had a favor,
While Justice could tak a gude mow.

Now fill to the brim
To her, and to him,
Wha willingly do what they dow;
And ne'er a poor wench
Want a friend at a pinch,
Whase failing is only a mow.