University of Virginia Library

Whereas th'infatuated creatures,
Still led by folks whom we call traitors,
(Whom had we dar'd, we'd have you know,
We should have hang'd a year ago)
Advancing in progression fatal,
Have now proceeded to give battle,
And with deep wounds, that fate portend,
Gall'd many a Reg'lars latter end;
And all the good effects we hop'd,
From fear and patience now are drop'd,
The good effects we mean, of gaining,
Whate'er you had was worth obtaining,
The good effects we saw in visions,
Of Lordships, Pensions, Posts, Commissions,
All which by following these same elves,
You've kept most wisely for yourselves;
It but remains for us, who stand
Invested with supreme command,
To prove we do not bear, or show you
The sword in vain—So woe be to you!

But first 'tis fit it should be seen,
What arrant knaves ye all have been
What dreadful crimes you've been committing,
'Gainst parliament and crown of Britain,
Denied their sacred rights to these,
Of calmly robbing whom they please,
And trait'rously combin'd your forces
To save your consciences and purses;
That any man with half an eye
Your plots and mischiefs might espy,
And by the pains you took to hide 'em,
Discern your knav'ries e'er you tried 'em,
Did ye not fright each public press,
And make e'en RIVINGTON confess,
Scare ev'ry Printer bold and wise,
Who dar'd to publish Tory lies?
Nay, when myself in Proclamation,
Spread wholesome falshoods through the nation,
Altho' the lies I used to scatter,
Were of the noblest size, no matter;
Did ye not all refuse to credit,
As if some common lyar had said it?
Did not my scribbler general strain hard,
My Massachusettensis, L---d,
Write every moment he could spare
From cards, and barbers, and the fair,
To argue, wheedle, coax and frighten
Your hardy rogues from schemes of fighting,
Scrawl'd, till he muddled quite his head;
And did you mind one word he said?
Did not my grave Judge S---l hit,
The summit of news-paper wit,
Fill every leaf, and every paper,
Of MILLS and HICKS, and Mother DRAPER,
Draw proclamations, works of toil,
In true sublime of scare-crow style,
Write farces too 'gainst right and freedom,
All for your good---and none would read 'em,
My friends at York did ye not hamper,
And make each Tory scribbler scamper,
From COOPER, that right reverend Ribald;
By Phebus' self, inspir'd to quibble,
Down to th' unmeaning, senseless prater,
From folly's rear guard, stiled MERCATOR;
Raise such a tumult, bluster, jarring,
That midst the clash of tempests warring,
L---w's weathercock, with veers forlorn,
Could hardly tell which way to turn?
And did ye not in the same shallow way,
Fright my poor Pennsylvanian G---y?
What ropes and halters did ye send
To mind him of his latter end?
Till least he'd hang in more than effigy,
Fled in a fog the trembling refugee?
What disappointments sad, and bilkings,
Awaited poor departing WILKINS?
What wild confusion, rout and hobble, you
Made with the Farmer, Don A. W.
How did you 'fore committees drag it,
And answer it with fire and faggot?
Still bent your own side to advance,
You never gave us equal chance,
That all the world might see and tell,
Which party beat at lying well.
From whence the point is very clear,
You did not dare the truth to hear;
But fearful lest the world should guess it,
Took all this trouble to suppress it.
Did ye not prate of law and right,
And stir your Yankies up to fight,
Apply the animating lays
Of freedom's sons in antient days,
Altho you could not fail to know
Those days were thousand years ago?
Did not your clergy, all as one,
Vile Protestants each mother's son,
Tho' miracles have left in lurch,
All men, but our true Cath'lic church,
Engage your knaves in treasons stout,
And tell them heav'n would help you out,
That providence subscrib'd the league,
And angels carried on th'intrigue,
Till proud such aid was on your side,
You all our mortal pow'r defied;
While every sermon beat alarms,
And ev'ry pulpit beat to arms?

And not to tell the things that past,
The nineteenth day of April last,
Of your arm'd men, some twenty dozens,
Whom our fears multiplied to thousands,
(For fear supplies in ways right able
The whole of old Pythog'ras' table;)
Attack'd the peaceful troops I sent,
For plunder, not for slaughter meant;
Who little mischief then had done,
But kill'd eight men at Lexington;
This shew'd their love to peace and virtue,
And prov'd they'd no intent to hurt you;
For did not ev'ry Reg'lar run,
As soon as e'er you fired a gun?
And fearful if they staid for sport,
You might by accident be hurt,
Convey themselves with speed away,
Full twenty miles in half a day;
Run till their legs were grown so weary,
They scarce suffic'd their weight to carry?
While you unmov'd by all this kindness,
Pursu'd, like tygers, still behind us;
And since assuming airs so tall
Because we did not kill you all,
You've dared with jibes and jeers confounded,
T' insult the brave, whose backs ye wounded;
(Tho' valour would with shame have burn'd
To shoot at men whose backs were turned)
And bragging nigh, as though you beat us,
No more mind Reg'lars than mosquitoes,
Fire on us at your will, and shut
The town, as tho' ye'd starve us out,
And with parade prepost'rous hedg'd,
Affect to hold us here besieg'd;
Tho' we who still command the seas,
Can run away when e'er we please,
Scare all the Tories into town,
And burn their hay and houses down,
And threaten high unless we flee,
To drive us headlong in the sea;
As once to faithless Jews a sign,
The De'el turn'd Hogreeve, did the swine.

At any rate, I'm now content to
Avoid the scrape I have got into,
And publish'd here my resolution
Of blood to spare the least effusion:
For fast proceeding in this pickle,
Who knows whose blood the next may trickle,
'Tis time in faith to cry enough;
Heav'n prosper those who now leave off.
Those that in peace will henceforth live,
I, and his Majesty forgive.
No more the Yankies I contemn;
Let me alone, and I'll let them,
All but that arch rogue, and first grand cock,
Your Samuel Adams and John Hancock,
Whose crimes are grown to that degree,
I must hang them, or they'll hang me.
But farther to explain to th' end,
That none may ignorance pretend,
I, ex cathedra, each mal-feazance
That follows rank with blackest treasons,
Whoe'er shall henceforth, without more said,
Associate with those knaves aforesaid,
Take arms to fight, or to conceal
Such Traitors 'gainst the common weal,
Aid them with money, arms, provision,
Goods, carriages, or ammunition,
Assist their onset, or retreat,
And help them, or to fight, or eat,
Hold correspondence, us to weaken,
By letter, message, sign or beacon;
Know they, as traitors we shall watch 'em,
And hang they shall, if I can catch 'em.

And now (for bravely we come on,
One more Whereas, and then we've done)
WHEREAS as long as we shall dwell on
This strange, unnatural rebellion,
(For all rebellion, to a notch
Is nat'ral, only to the Scotch,
Tho' parliament have done their share,
To nat'ralize it ev'ry where)
Since justice cannot take its course,
And common law's kick'd out of doors;
I by the pow'r your charters grant,
(Find ye out how, for faith, I can't)
Prescribe, to keep all rogues in awe,
The constant use of Martial Law,
So long and in such quantities,
As my great wisdom shall devise;
Then without noise, or grumbling take it,
And ropes shall trick the knaves who break it.

But putting off this rage and fury,
I'm twice as glad again, t'assure you,
That all who in this trying crisis,
Shall heed my peaceable advices,
Submit to me in ev'ry thing,
And lose their rights to please the King,
Shall from my arm, which is not short,
Obtain protection and support;
Such as I give the Boston Tories
Who starve for heeding thus my stories,
Or venture each his worthless head,
Condemn'd to list, and fight for bread.
And all the Tory refugees
May now go home whene'er they please;
We've no occasion for such stuff;
We've British fools and knaves enough.
Whene'er they dare without remissness,
Let them walk out about their business;
Yet not with Whigs and Rebels link't,
But still stand sep'rate and distinct,
Till mercy aid your country undone,
And heav'n dispatch me back to LONDON