●●NTOUN ADDRESS REVIVED, To His Highness the then Prince of ORANGE, now Monarch of GREAT BRITAIN, etc.  

●●OLOGUE  
●…, Sir, still Faithful to thy Word,  
●…nquers more by Kindness than by Sword,  
●…rs brave with Matchless Vigour,  
Mogen, make so great a Figure;  
Great Britain's only Moses,  
Mortal Thirstle with the Roses,  
●…he Harp in Tune to bring,  
●…ride of Lilies in the Spring:  
〈…〉, poor us, among the Press,  
〈…〉, to make this blunt Address.  
〈…〉, for as Your Highness knows,  
store of Nonsense, else in Prose.   

〈…〉, That it may please  
●…ness, to give us an ease,  
●…s more or less,  
●…nave the Cess;  
〈…〉 Pity cries,  
〈…〉 dear Excise:  
〈…〉 us when we say it  
●…e not able to pay it  
●…gh when we should Sleep,  
we should go to Meet,  
get it for to borrow,  
●…ust to sloken Sorrow,  
Sir, makes us now  
and till we be sow:  
●…ss Forces stand,  
〈…〉 poor but Valiant Land,  
●…horick procure  
●…nly to the poor,  
〈…〉 Courtiers get no share,  
〈…〉 Exchequer bare;  
〈…〉 we beg at Large,  
●…arters quite Discharge,  
〈…〉 King's hie Street,  
〈…〉 we miss some Cheet,  
●…or as they come by,  
〈…〉 Cold Or Dry,  
Drink, and Burn our Piets,  
●…arthing in their Breeches,  
●…ay and press our Horse,  
our Heads, and that is worse;  
●… Men, and Horse's meat,  
●…th Wives and Bairns to greet.  
●…d Your Highness may  
〈…〉 Stipends we can Pay;  
〈…〉 if Ye wish us well,  
〈…〉 speed reconcile, 〈…〉  
Who had great kindness for this Place  
You'll move the Duke our Master's Grace,  
To put a Knock upon our Steeple,  
To show the Hours to Country People;  
For we that live into the Town  
Our sight grows short, by Sun go down,  
And charge him, Sir. our Street to wend,  
And Cawlay it from end to end,  
Pay but the Workmen for their pains,  
And we shall Jointly Led the Stonss,  
In case Your Highness put him to it,  
Our Market Customs well may do it  
For of himself he is not Rash,  
Because he wants the ready Cash;  
For if Your Highiness for some Reasons,  
Should Honour Lintoun with your presence,  
Your Milk-white Poltray would turn Brown,  
Ere Ye Ride half out through the Town,  
And that would put upon our Name,  
A blot of everlasting shame,  
Who are Reputed honest Fellows,  
And stout as ever William Wallace,  
Lastly, Great Sir, Discharge us all  
To go to Court without a Call,  
Discharge Lard Isaac and Hog-yards  
James Gifford and the Lintoun Lairds,  
Old William Younger, and Geordie Purdie  
James Douglass, Scrogs and little Swordie  
And English Andrew, who his Skill,  
To knap at every Word so well,  
L●t King seat stay for the Town-head,  
T●ll that old Peevish Wife be Dead,  
And that they go on no pretence  
To put this place to great Expense  
●or yet shall Contribut their Share,  
●o any who are going there,  
To strive to be the greatest Minion,  
Or plead for this or that Opinion,  
If we have any thing to Spare,  
Poor Widows they should be our Care,  
The Fatherless; the Blind, and Lame,  
Who starve, yet for to beg think shame  
So Farewill, Sir, here is no Treason,  
But Wealth of Rhyme, and part of Reason:  
And for to save some needless coast  
We send this our address by post,   

EPILOGUE:  
〈…〉