Poems by St. John Honeywood . with some pieces in prose |
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The News-Monger's Song for the Winter of 1788.
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 | Poems by St. John Honeywood . |  |
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The News-Monger's Song for the Winter of 1788.
Good news, brother dealers in metre and prose,
The world has turn'd buffer and's coming to blows;
Write good sense or nonsense, my boys, 'tis all one,
All persons may fire when the battle's begun.
Down, down, derry down.
The world has turn'd buffer and's coming to blows;
Write good sense or nonsense, my boys, 'tis all one,
All persons may fire when the battle's begun.
Down, down, derry down.
Our tutors and sages would oftentimes say,
‘Sit omnibus hora,’ each dog has his day:
Queen Anne's is the æra of genius 'tis known,
Arguendo, this day is for scribblers alone.
Down, down, derry down.
‘Sit omnibus hora,’ each dog has his day:
Queen Anne's is the æra of genius 'tis known,
Arguendo, this day is for scribblers alone.
Down, down, derry down.
Now Claxton, and Babcock, and Webster, and Stoddard,
Hall, Sellers, Childs, London, Oswald, Humphreys, and Goddard,
Claypoole, Spotswood, Green, Bailey, Thomas, Bradford, and Draper,
May thank the kind stars for such luck to their paper.
Down, down, derry down.
Hall, Sellers, Childs, London, Oswald, Humphreys, and Goddard,
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May thank the kind stars for such luck to their paper.
Down, down, derry down.
Come on, brother scribblers! 'tis idle to lag,
The convention has let the cat out of the bag;
Write something at random, you need not be nice,
Public spirit, Montesquieu, and great Doctor Price.
Down, down, derry down.
The convention has let the cat out of the bag;
Write something at random, you need not be nice,
Public spirit, Montesquieu, and great Doctor Price.
Down, down, derry down.
Talk of Holland and Greece, and of purses and swords,
Democratical mobs, and congressional lords;
Tell what is surrender'd, and what is enjoy'd;
All things weigh alike, boys, we know in a void.
Down, down, derry down.
Democratical mobs, and congressional lords;
Tell what is surrender'd, and what is enjoy'd;
All things weigh alike, boys, we know in a void.
Down, down, derry down.
Much joy! brother printers, the day is our own:
A time like the present sure never was known;
Predictions are making—predictions fulfil,
All nature seems proud to bring grist to our mill.
Down, down, derry down.
A time like the present sure never was known;
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All nature seems proud to bring grist to our mill.
Down, down, derry down.
Huge comets once more thro' the system will stroll;
The moon, they inform us, is burnt to a coal:
Old Saturn is tumbling, the sun has a spot,
The world and its glory is going to pot.
Down, down, derry down.
The moon, they inform us, is burnt to a coal:
Old Saturn is tumbling, the sun has a spot,
The world and its glory is going to pot.
Down, down, derry down.
All Europe, we hear, is in horrible pother,
They jockey, they bully, and kill one another:
In Holland, where freedom is lustily bawling,
All's fighting, and swearing, and pulling, and hauling.
Down, down, derry down.
They jockey, they bully, and kill one another:
In Holland, where freedom is lustily bawling,
All's fighting, and swearing, and pulling, and hauling.
Down, down, derry down.
The Czarine and Poland fresh mischiefs are carving,
The Porte is in motion, and Ireland is starving;
While the Dey of Algiers so pot-valiant is grown,
That he swears by the prophet the world's all his own.
Down, down, derry down.
The Porte is in motion, and Ireland is starving;
While the Dey of Algiers so pot-valiant is grown,
That he swears by the prophet the world's all his own.
Down, down, derry down.
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In England, blest island! what wonders we view,
North blind as a bat—Lord George Gordon a Jew!
Or halters or peerage on Hastings await,
And faction pro more dismembers the state.
Down, down, derry, down.
North blind as a bat—Lord George Gordon a Jew!
Or halters or peerage on Hastings await,
And faction pro more dismembers the state.
Down, down, derry, down.
Prince George has relinquish'd the stews for the church,
And struts like a true blue in Solomon's porch:
Corruption pervades through both country and town,
And the tune of the nation is down, derry down.
Down, down, derry down.
And struts like a true blue in Solomon's porch:
Corruption pervades through both country and town,
And the tune of the nation is down, derry down.
Down, down, derry down.
We bid Europe farewell—the Atlantic is past—
O freedom Columbia! you're welcome at last;
Hail congress, conventions, mobs, Shayites and kings,
With bankrupts, and know ye, and such pretty things.
Down, down, derry down.
O freedom Columbia! you're welcome at last;
Hail congress, conventions, mobs, Shayites and kings,
With bankrupts, and know ye, and such pretty things.
Down, down, derry down.
The state's had a fall, and receiv'd a contusion,
And all things are tumbled in jumbled confusion:
State quacks and state midwives are huddling all round,
But in spite of their drugs we go down, derry down.
Down, down, derry down.
And all things are tumbled in jumbled confusion:
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But in spite of their drugs we go down, derry down.
Down, down, derry down.
Write then, brother scribblers, your talents display,
This world is a stage, and man's life but a play;
When the curtain is drawn, and the ranting is o'er,
Kings, heroes and waiters are equal once more.
Down, down, derry down.
This world is a stage, and man's life but a play;
When the curtain is drawn, and the ranting is o'er,
Kings, heroes and waiters are equal once more.
Down, down, derry down.
Old Time, with his brass-eating teeth, shall consume
The works of a Homer, a Newton, a Hume;
And who, when all things are consum'd by old Time,
Can tell but we scribblers were writers sublime?
Down, down, derry down.
The works of a Homer, a Newton, a Hume;
And who, when all things are consum'd by old Time,
Can tell but we scribblers were writers sublime?
Down, down, derry down.
| Poems by St. John Honeywood . | |