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A Supplementary Ode
  
  
  
  
  
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A Supplementary Ode

Heu, quam difficile est crimen non prodere.
Ovid.

Tussis pro crepitu, no doubt an art is,
Not easy to translate in decent phrase;
But understood and practiced by the parties
That would be uppermost in modern days.
Thus moderate men, who twenty years ago
At independence frowned and made wry faces,
Of mother Britain's rights made much ado,
Meant nothing more, than just to keep their places.
So when our soldiers perished on the decks
Of prison ships,—or died by exaltation,
Vile Tories, trembling for their forfeit necks,
Loudly exclaimed against retaliation.

106

So when our Daddy Vice bewrought his brain
To tell us all of lords, and dukes, and kings,
No doubt His Worship counted all the gain
Which from preeminence and title springs.
So when our our triple-headed Publius barked,
Like Cerberus, at unbelieving Anty,
Each proselyte-monger for himself had marked
Of federal loaf and fish no portion scanty.
Thus A---s and S---h so eager to repair
The tattered remnant of our public credit,
To patch the garment better, thought it fair
On their own meager carcasses to spread it.
Thus Atlas to support his paper throne,
And give its faithful guards another sop,
To pay off France, proposed a further loan,
Gaps of instrumentality to stop.
Thus Antigallicans and British mongrels
Who at republican successes sweat,
Buzzing like swarms of flies from fifty dunghills,
Have neutrals turned to vilify Genet.

107

As Witches, hating people, to torment 'em
Stick pins in images that represent 'em.
And now, good folks, a dozen odes I've writ
(More by one-half than e'er I thought to write)
And if I have not always shown my wit,
No doubt you'll say that I have shown my spite:
Foe to all party but the public weal,
All secondary motives I disdain;
For ne'er shall worth my smarting satire feel,
Nor vice a plaudit from my hand obtain.
Farewell! perhaps when next our Congress meets,
Amongst them I may take a little peep;
Not to disturb their worships in their seats,
But just to see who wakes, and who's asleep.
Sept. 7, 1793