An Excellent New Ballad
Entitled and Called
The Bed of Roses
The Morning Chronicle (April 8, 1806) 
BILLY PITT strips the skin from our bones,
And brings to the grindstone our noses,
CASTLEREAGH puts us kindly to bed,
And tells us our bed is of Roses.
BILLY PITT gives us paper and war,
And when his catastrophe closes,
CASTLEREAGH cries "We'll hush you to restó
"What cradle like PITT'S Bed of Roses."
How sweet on a Subsidy Blanket,
And a Bolster of Blood our repose is;
CASTLEREAGH thinks 'tis very bad taste
Not to relish this clean Bed of Roses.
The Rose without Thorn was a treat,
BILLY never mixed up in his posies:
But the Thorns we shall wish at Old Scratch,
When we slumber on PITT'S Bed of Roses.
The Rose which at Austerlitz buds,
Its blush at Vienna disclosesó
CASTLEREAGH scrapes the blossoms together,
And makes us this sweet Bed of Roses.
CASTLEREAGH, still perhaps you're correct,
For your argument still pre-supposes;
Should you leave old GEORGE ROSE and his Sons,
You'd leave us PITT'S old "Bed of Roses."