Classic Poem

I asked a Whig the other night,
How came this wicked plot to light:
He answered, that a dog of late
Informed a minister of state.
Said I, from thence I nothing know;
For, are not all informers so?
A villain, who his friend betrays,
We style him by no other phrase;
And so a perjured dog denotes
Porter, and Prendergast, and Oates.
And forty others I could name--

whig: But you must know this dog was lame.

tory: A weighty argument indeed;
Your evidence was lame. Proceed:
Come, help your lame dog o'er the stile.

whig: Sir, you mistake me all this while:
I mean a dog, without a joke,
Can howl, and bark, but never spoke.

tory: I'm still to seek which dog you mean;
Whether cur Plunket, or whelp Skean,
An English or an Irish hound;
Or t'other puppy that was drowned,
Or Mason that abandoned bitch:
Then pray be free, and tell me which:
For, every stander-by was marking
That all the noise they made was barking:
You pay them well; the dogs have got
Their dog's-heads in a porridge-pot:
And 'twas but just; for, wise men say,
That, 'every dog must have his day'.
Dog Walpole laid a quart of nog on't,
He'd either make a hog or dog on't,
And looked since he has got his wish,
As if he had thrown down a dish.
Yet, this I dare foretell you from it,
He'll soon return to his own vomit.

whig: Besides, this horrid plot was found
By Neno after he was drowned.

tory: Why then the proverb is not right,
Since you can teach dead dogs to bite.

whig: I proved my proposition full:
But, Jacobites are strangely dull.
Now, let me tell you plainly, sir,
Our witness is a real cur,
A dog of spirit for his years,
Has twice two legs, two hanging ears;
His name is Harlequin, I wot,
And that's a name in every plot:
Resolved to save the British nation,
Though French by birth and education:
His correspondence plainly dated,
Was all deciphered, and translated.
His answers were exceeding pretty
Before the secret wise committee;
Confessed as plain as he could bark;
Then with his fore-foot set his mark.

tory: Then all this while I have been bubbled;
I thought it was a dog in doublet:
The matter now no longer sticks;
For statesmen never want dog-tricks.
But, since it was a real cur,
And not a dog in metaphor,
I'll give you joy of the report,
That he's to have a place at court.

whig: Yes, and a place he will grow rich in;
A turnspit in the royal kitchen.
Sir, to be plain, I tell you what;
We had occasion for a plot;
And when we found the dog begin it,
We guessed the Bishop's foot was in it.

tory: I own it was a dangerous project;
And you have proved it by dog-logic.
Sure such intelligence between
A dog and bishop ne'er was seen,
Till you began to change the breed;
Your bishops all are dogs indeed.