University of Virginia Library

VERSIFICATION Of a Letter from a Political Character in Philadelphia to his Friend in Connecticut.

“SIR,

Your paper of the 9th instant, contains an extract of a letter, said to be written by a gentleman in Philadelphia, to a friend of his in this state. It was no doubt written there, and unquestionably with the purest intention. The author, it is understood, has long been in the habit of labouring in this manner for the public good; and it is to be hoped that his virtuous efforts may meet with their due reward. In order to give all possible currency to this excellent production, and promote its circulation, (as such truly patriotic sentiments should never be forgotten, but inculcated strongly on the mind of every one,) it has been thought proper to render some of the most striking passages into verse, which has long been considered as the surest vehicle to fame; and has this advantage over plain prose, that it is much more easily retained in memory.

There exists in this country a party or two,
And each has its object, and each has its view.
To the Jacobin party you know I belong,
For, by nature, I take to the side that is wrong.
Against us are pitted the good, and the great,
The lovers of order, the props of the state:
These fellows intend to leave us in the lurch,
As sneaking as girls, when confessing at church.
But we will convince them we'll hold up our noses,
Tho' the Devil himself all our plotting discloses.
Our government's deem'd an OLD CART, by these clubs,
They grease up the axle—we split off the hubs,
They whip up the cattle to drag it up-hill,
We throw down obstructions chock under the wheel.
This cart, we contend, was most wretchedly made,
That its timbers already are sadly decay'd,
That its spokes are all loose, broken down are the raives,
And nothing is sound but the tongue and the naves.
And since it has shewn such a proneness for wearing,
Our Club has resolv'd it is not worth repairing,
We have therefore determin'd by one mighty lift,
To tumble it over, or set it adrift.
These Fed'ralists have a strange plan of their own,
For when we so crabbed, and factious are grown,
That neither their threats, nor there coaxings can move,
The scoundrels will hire us their measures to love,
And no Jacobin ever a bribe could resist,
No, not if 'twere offered by Beelzebub's fist.
Thus Mr. Fauchet, in his flour-merchant trade,
Found Randolph hung back, when he wanted his aid;
But yet, when the patriot told him his price,
From the bargain the Frenchman flew off in a trice,
Resolv'd a while longer his dollars to keep,
Tho' Edmund was willing to sell him dog-cheap.
The House, too, they view on the name scurvy plan,
A kind of excrescence, like a wart on a man,
Like a wen on an ox, or a corn on the toes,
Or a carbuncle hung to a dram-drinker's nose.
They have been in the habit of borrowing as much
Ready cash as they could by the way of the Dutch,
But since poor Mynheer has become sans culotte,
He has lost with his breeches both guilder and groat;
While Grandmamma Europe, stripp'd down to the bone,
Much fonder of borrowing than lending is grown;
And still scarcer with us is that “Root of all evil,”
That widow of Mammon and child of the Devil:
So that now it is obvious to every eye,
That the stream has dry'd up and the grist has gone by.
Besides, it won't answer to strain over hard,
Lest they carry away all their sails by the yard,
And give smugglers a chance, now and then, to pop in
An anchor of brandy or stone-jug of gin;
Hence it is that these fellows are ever contriving
Some plan for preventing our calling from thriving,
Since this creed we all hold, both black, red and white,
“To steal from the Public's a Jacobin's right.”
Thus they tax our molasses to keep us from cheating,
So you see they're resolv'd we shall pay for good eating,
Our sugar, our salt, as if like Lot's wife,
They thought us well pickled for the rest of our life.
And in getting their cash they've a damnable way
That is—the most easy for people to pay.
Now a tax that's direct I advocate laying,
That each may enjoy the full pleasure of paying,
And give occupation to sheriffs a score,
And country collectors a thousand or more,
Thus to grind down the poor to their own native dirt,
And strip a poor fellow that has not a shirt.
At the opposite party, I'll just take a glance,
They were hatch'd by Genet, when he first came from France.
One never need look at a prettier set,
The sire, and the brats, are “hale fellows, well met,”
Thieves, bankrupts, and drunkards, pickpockets, and all,
Well branded with brimstone, and cropp'd at the fall.
We do all in our power to persuade the blind people,
That Adams's legs are as long as a steeple,
That he straddles about at a terrible rate,
Now over a puddle, now over a gate;
While “THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE,” great Thomas, so pale,
Works along like a tad-pole, by wriggling his tail.
These Fed'ralists, too, are an insolent race,
They won't e'en permit us to spit in their face.
In Congress behold a great LYON appears,
From Ireland imported, and purchased with steers;
He just took the license on Griswold to squirt
A stream of mundungus, not thinking of hurt;
When lo! the fierce Yankee flew into a passion,
And gave the bog-trotter a notable threshing.
The KING of the BEASTS most lustily roar'd,
At his army acquaintance, the old WOODEN-SWORD.
No Christian, I'm sure's this Connecticut shaver,
He ought not to've grumbled, but swallow'd the slaver,
The Testament says, you should turn t'other cheek,
And not go to using the hickory stick.
But in order to carry our schemes to effect,
We're oblig'd to conduct with peculiar respect.
One weapon, all-potent, as wielded by us,
Is constantly preaching on guarding the purse.
And so far our plan of economy reaches,
We intend to abolish the wearing of breeches.
Another contrivance we mean to pursue,
Which has hitherto serv'd us, we hope 'twill still do.
Our dead-and-alive country has sunk in a trance,
And has lost all affection for fighting and France.
Our farmers too seem to have outgrown their merit,
And given themselves up to a peaceable spirit.
But some-how or other, we'll break down the charm,
Make them handle the musquet, and give up the farm.
'Tis the duty of all, if the Frenchmen should need 'em
To offer their lives on the altar of Freedom;
'Tis to France you're indebted for all you have got,
Your freedom, religion, your farms, and what not,
And as they once bought you, in our firm opinion,
You're their slaves, first by purchase, and then by dominion.
These being the facts, you perceive my intent—
If once you affront them, they'll make you repent;
These sans-culotte butchers are terrible heroes,
More valiant than Cæsars, more bloody than Neroes,
They'll come over on rafts, or perhaps on the ice,
As thick as musquitoes, or Pharoah's lice.
In time then be wise—mind the words of my text—
Go to France in the first place—to hell in the next.