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Multa renascentur quæ jam cecidere, cadentque
Quæ nunc sunt in honore—
Horace.

1

THE AMERICAN TIMES.

A Satire IN THREE PARTS.

Facit indignatio versum.—
Juvenal.

By CAMILLO QUERNO. CHAPLAIN TO THE CONGRESS.

1. PART I.

When Faction, pois'nous as the scorpion's sting,
Infects the people and insults the King;
When foul Sedition skulks no more conceal'd,
But grasps the sword and rushes to the field;
When Justice, Law, and Truth are in disgrace,
And Treason, Fraud, and Murder fill their place;
Smarting beneath accumulated woes,
Shall we not dare the tyrants to expose?
We will, we must—tho' mighty Laurens frown,
Or Hancock with his rabble hunt us down;
Champions of virtue, we'll alike disdain
2

The guards of Washington, the lies of Payne;
And greatly bear, without one anxious throb,
The wrath of Congress, or its lords the mob.
Bad are the Times, almost too bad to paint;
The whole head sickens, the whole heart is faint;
The State is rotten, rotten to the core,
'Tis all one bruize, one putrefying sore.
Here Anarchy before the gaping crowd
Proclaims the people's majesty aloud;
There Folly runs with eagerness about,
And prompts the cheated populace to shout;
Here paper-dollars meagre Famine holds,
There votes of Congress Tyranny unfolds;
With doctrines strange in matter and in dress,
Here sounds the pulpit, and there groans the press;
Confusion blows her trump—and far and wide
The noise is heard—the plough is thrown aside;
The awl, the needle, and the shuttle drops;
Tools change to swords, and camps succeed to shops;
The doctor's glister-pipe, the lawyer's quill,
Transform'd to guns, retain the power to kill;
From garrets, cellars, rushing thro' the street,
The new-born statesmen in committee meet;
Legions of senators infest the land,
And mushroom generals thick as mushrooms stand.
3

Ye western climes, where youthful plenty smil'd,
Ye plains just rescued from the dreary wild,
Ye cities just emerging into fame,
Ye minds new ting'd with learning's sacred flame,
Ye people wondering at your swift increase,
Sons of united liberty and peace,
How are your glories in a moment fled?
See, Pity weeps, and Honour hangs his head.
O! for some magic voice, some pow'rful spell,
To call the Furies from profoundest hell;
Arise, ye Fiends, from dark Cocytus' brink;
Soot all my paper; sulphurize my ink;
So with my theme the colours shall agree,
Brimstone and black, the livery of Lee.
They come, they come!—convulsive heaves the ground,
Earth opens—Lo! they pour, they swarm around;
About me throng unnumber'd hideous shapes,
Infernal wolves, and bears, and hounds, and apes;
All Pandemonium stands reveal'd to sight;
Good monsters, give me leave, and let me write:
They will be notic'd—Memory, set them down,
Tho' reason stand aghast, and order frown.
4

Whence and what art thou, execrable form,
Rough as a bear, and roaring as a storm?
Ay, now I know thee—Livingston art thou—
Gall in thy heart, and malice on thy brow;
Coward, yet cruel—zealous, yet profane;
Havoc, and spoil, and ruin are thy gain;
Go, glut like Death thy vast unhide-bound maw,
Remorseless swallow liberty and law;
At one enormous stroke a nation slay,
But thou thyself shall perish with thy prey.
What Fiend is this of countenance acute,
More of the knave who seems, and less of brute;
Whose words are cutting like a show'r of hail,
And blasting as the mildew in the vale?
'Tis Jay—to him these characters belong:
Sure sense of right, with fix'd pursuit of wrong;
An outside keen, where malice makes abode,
Voice of a lark, and venom of a toad;
Semblance of worth, not substance, he puts on;
And Satan owns him for his darling son.
Flit not around me thus, pernicious elf,
Whose love of country terminates in self;
Back to the gloomy shades, detested sprite,
5

Mangler of rhet'ric, enemy of right;
Curs'd of thy father; sum of all that's base;
Thy sight is odious, and thy name is Chase.
What spectre's that with eyes on earth intent,
Whose god is gold, whose glory cent. per cent.;
Whose soul, devoted to the love of gain,
Revolts from feelings noble or humane?
Let friends, let family, let country groan,
Despairing widows shriek, and orphans moan;
Turn'd to the centre, where his riches grow,
His eye regards not spectacles of woe;
Morris, look up—for so thy name we spell—
On earth, Bob Morris—Mammon 'tis in hell.
Wretch, who hast meanly sold thy native land,
Tremble, thou wretch, for vengeance is at hand;
Soon shall thy treasures fly on eagle's wings,
And Conscience goad thee with her thousand stings.
Of head erect, and self-sufficient mien,
Another Morris presses to be seen;
Demons of vanity, you know him sure;
This is your pupil, this is Gouverneur;
Some little knowledge, and some little sense,
More affectation far, and more pretence;
6

Such is the man—his tongue he never balks,
On all things talkable he boldly talks;
A specious orator, of law he prates;
A pompous nothing, mingles in debates;
Consummate impudence, sheer brass of soul,
Crowns every sentence, and completes the whole;
In other times unnotic'd he might drop:
Confusion makes a statesman of a fop.
Hail, Faction, wayward queen, whose charms retain
Such opposites—the sordid, and the vain:
Who jar in all things else, in thee unite;
Robert the greedy, Gouverneur the light;
And if another contrast we display,
Still both are thine, the serious and the gay.
There is a man, all spirit, life, and ease,
Whose native humour never fails to please;
There is a man devout, reserv'd, austere,
Whose grave demeanor other men revere;
These, whom their various turns forbad to meet,
Have met in Congress in communion sweet;
There, mirth put off, and gravity resign'd,
The two sworn brothers stand in treason join'd;
Iö triumphe, sing the dev'lish fiends,
Discordant natures whose seduction blends.
7

But still the question agitates mankind,
Could Duer be over-reach'd, Duane be blind?
Thy sprightly genius, Duer, coulds't thou controul,
The flow of wit, the sallies of the soul,
Abandon every muse, and every grace,
For eminence among a savage race?
Coulds't thou, Duane, give up thy favourite church,
And leave religion weeping in the lurch,
Bid truth and decent piety adieu,
For dire promotion o'er a godless crew?
In Jotham's famous apologue we read,
Not so the fruit-trees wiser far decreed;
Shall we, said they, our wine and oil desert,
Which decorate the face, and cheer the heart,
Quit peace and plenty, elegance and ease,
To reign scrub monarchs over barbarous trees?
'Twere strange—but stranger, Honour to resign,
And govern, legion-like, the herd of swine.
What group of Wizards next salutes my eyes,
United comrades, quadruple allies?
Bostonian Cooper, with his Hancock join'd,
Adams with Adams, one in heart and mind.
Sprung from the soil, where witches swarm'd of yore,
They come well skill'd in necromantic lore;
8

Intent on mischief, busily they toil,
The magic cauldron to prepare and boil;
Array'd in sable vests, and caps of fur,
With wands of ebony the mess they stir;
See! the smoke rises from the cursed drench,
And poisons all the air with horrid stench.
Celestial muse, I fear 'twill make thee hot
To count the vile ingredients of the pot:
Dire incantations, words of death, they mix
With noxious plants, and Water from the Styx;
Treason's rank flow'rs, Ambition's swelling fruits,
Hypocrisy in seeds, and Fraud in roots,
Bundles of Lies fresh gather'd in their prime,
And stalks of Calumny grown stale with time;
Handfuls of Zeal's intoxicating leaves;
Riot in bunches, Cruelty in sheaves;
Slices of Cunning cut exceeding thin;
Kernels of Malice, rotten cores of Sin;
Branches of Persecution, boughs of Thrall,
And sprigs of Superstition, dipt in gall;
Opium to lull or madden all the throng,
And assa-fœtida profusely strong;
Milk from Tisiphone's infernal breast;
Herbs of all venom, drugs of every pest,
9

With minerals from the centre brought by Gnomes;
All seethe together till the furnace foams.
Was this the potion, this the draught design'd
To cheat the croud, and fascinate mankind?
O void of reason they, who thus were caught;
O lost to virtue, who so cheap were bought;
O folly, which all folly sure transcends,
Such bungling sorc'rers to account as friends.
Yet tho' the frantic populace applaud,
'Tis Satire's part to stigmatize the fraud.
Exult, ye jugglers, in your lucky tricks;
Yet on your fame the lasting brand we'll fix.
Cheat male and female, poison age and youth;
Still we'll pursue you with the goad of truth.
Whilst in mid-heav'n shines forth the golden flame,
Hancock and Adams shall be words of shame;
Whilst silver beams the face of night adorn,
Cooper of Boston shall be held in scorn.
Strike up, hell's music! roar, infernal drums!
Discharge the cannon—Lo! the warrior comes!
He comes, not tame as on Ohio's banks,
But rampant at the head of ragged ranks.
10

Hunger and itch are with him—Gates and Wayne—
And all the lice of Egypt in his train.
Sure these are Falstaff's soldiers, poor and bare;
Or else the rotten regiments of Rag-fair:
Bid the French generals to their Chief advance,
And grace his suite—O shame! they're fled to France.
Wilt thou, great chief of Freedom's lawless sons,
Great captain of the western Goths and Huns,
Wilt thou for once permit a private man
To parley with thee, and thy conduct scan?
At Reason's bar has Catiline been heard:
At Reason's bar e'en Cromwell has appear'd:
Successless, or successful, all must stand
At her tribunal with uplifted hand.
Severe, but just, the case she fairly states;
And fame or infamy her sentence waits.
Hear thy indictment, Washington, at large;
Attend and listen to the solemn charge:
Thou hast supported an atrocious cause
Against thy King, thy Country, and the laws;
Committed perjury, encourag'd lies,
Forced conscience, broken the most sacred ties;
Myriads of wives and fathers at thy hand
Their slaughter'd husbands, slaughter'd sons demand;
11

That pastures hear no more the lowing kine,—
That towns are desolate, all—all is thine;
The frequent sacrilege that pain'd my sight:
The blasphemies my pen abhors to write;
Innumerable crimes on thee must fall—
For thou maintainest, thou defendest all.
Wilt thou pretend that Britain is in fault?
In Reason's court a falsehood goes for nought.
Will it avail, with subterfuge refin'd
To say, such deeds are foreign to thy mind?
Wilt thou assert that, generous and humane,
Thy nature suffers at another's pain?
He who a band of ruffians keeps to kill,
Is he not guilty of the blood they spill?
Who guards M'Kean, and Joseph Reed the vile,
Help'd he not murder Roberts and Carlisle?
So, who protects committees in the chair,
In all their shocking cruelties must share.
What could, when half-way up the hill to fame,
Induce thee to go back, and link with shame?
Was it ambition, vanity, or spite,
That prompted thee with Congress to unite;
Or did all three within thy bosom roll,
12

“Thou heart of hero with a traitor's soul?”
Go, wretched author of thy country's grief,
Patron of villainy, of villains chief;
Seek with thy cursed crew the central gloom,
Ere Truth's avenging sword begin thy doom;
Or sudden vengeance of celestial dart
Precipitate thee with augmented smart.
O Poet, seated on the lofty throne,
Forgive the bard who makes thy words his own;
Surpriz'd I trace in thy prophetic page
The crimes, the follies of the present age;
Thy scenery, sayings, admirable man,
Pourtray our struggles with the dark Divan.
What Michael to the first arch-rebel said,
Would well rebuke the rebel army's head;
What Satan to th' angelic Prince replied,
Such are the words of Continental pride.
I swear by Him, who rules the earth and sky,
The dread event shall equally apply;
That Clinton's warfare is the war of God,
And Washington shall feel the vengeful rod.
13

2. PART II.

Why has thou soar'd so high, ambitious muse?
Descend in prudence, and contract thy views;
Not always generals offer to our aim;
By turns we must advert to meaner game.
Yet hard to rescue from oblivion's grasp,
The worthless beetle, and the noxious asp;
And full as hard to save for after-times
The names of men known only for their crimes.
Left to themselves they soon would be forgot;
But yet 'tis right that rogues should hang and rot.
Still, as we own, and as old saws relate,
Not always thrives the verse that haunts the great:
Of rulers in America, I deem,
Swift is the change, and slight is the esteem;
When Houston from Savannah fled of late,
Did any ask who took his chair of state?
Let Henry quit, and Jefferson succeed;
14

Let Wharton's place (who cares?) be fill'd by Reed;
Who matters what of Stirling may become,
The quintessence of whisky, soul of rum?
Fractious at nine, quite gay at twelve o'clock;
From thence till bed-time stupid as a stock:
These are sad samples—but we'll cull our store;
Can liberality herself do more?
Turn out, black monsters—let us take our choice;
What dev'lish figure's this, with dev'lish voice?
Oh! 'tis Pulaski—'tis a foreign chief;
On him we'll comment—be our comment brief:
What are his merits, judges may dispute;
We'll solve the doubt, and praise him for a brute.
No quarter, is his motto—sweet and short:
Good Britons, give him a severe retort.
As yet he 'scapes the shot deserv'd so well;
His nobler horse in Carolina fell;
He fears not in the field where heroes bleed,
He starts at nothing but a gen'rous deed.
Escap'd from Poland, where his murd'rous knife,
'Tis said, was rais'd against his sov'reign's life;
Perhaps he scoffs with fashionable mirth
The notion of a God, who rules the earth:
15

Fool, not to see that something more than lot,
Conducts the traitor to this destin'd spot;
Rank with congenial crimes, that call for blood;
Where justice soon must pour the purple flood;
A parricide, with parricides to-die,
And vindicate the pow'r that reigns on high.
Who is that phantom, silent, pale, and slow,
That looks the picture of dejected woe?
Art thou not Wilson?—ha! dost thou lament
Thy poison'd principles, thy days mis-spent?
Was it thy fatal faith that led thee wrong?
Yet hads't thou reason, and that reason strong:
Judgment was thine, and in no common share;
That judgment cultur'd with assiduous care:
But all was fruitless; popular applause
Seduc'd thee to embrace an impious cause.
Now, or my mind deceives me, thou wouldst fain
Thy former duty, former truth regain:
Like some rash boy, whom strong desire to lave
Too daring, tempts to trust the briny wave;
But soon borne out to distance from the strand,
He longs with ardour to retrieve the land:
In vain—the waves his weak endeavours spurn,
And rapid tides forbid him to return.
16

Room for a spectre of portentous show;
Make room for triple-headed Roberdeau!
Churchman, dissenter, methodist appear;
Chairman, and congress-man, and brigadier;
Cerberean barker at the Stygian ford,
Where is thy bible, say, and where thy sword?
Thy bible—that long since was wisely lost,
Because its maxims with thy practice cross'd;
Well, but thy weapon—was it lost in fight?
Hush, I remember—'twas to aid thy flight.
Of brass, lead, leather, treble is thy shield;
And treble tremblings seize thee in the field;
Treble in office and in faith thou art,
And nothing double in thee, but thy heart.
Ye priests of Baal, from hot Tartarean stoves,
Approach with all the prophets of the groves.
Mess-mates of Jezebel's luxurious mess,
Come in the splendor of pontific dress;
Haste to receive your chief in solemn state;
Haste to attend on Witherspoon the great.
Ye lying spirits too, who brisk and bold
Appear'd before the throne divine of old,
For form, not use, augment his rev'rend train;
The sire of lies resides within his brain.
17

Scotland confess'd him sensible and shrewd,
Austere and rigid; many thought him good.
But turbulence of temper spoil'd the whole,
And show'd the movements of his inmost soul.
Disclos'd machinery loses of its force:
He felt the fact, and westward bent his course.
Princeton receiv'd him, bright amidst his flaws,
And saw him labour in the good old cause;
Saw him promote the meritorious work,
The hate of Kings, and glory of the Kirk.
Excuse, each reverend Caledonian seer,
Whose worth I own, whose learning I revere;
Your duty to the Prince who fills the throne,
Your liberal sentiments are fully known:
Here in these lands start up a spurious brood,
And boast themselves allied to you in blood;
Think it not hard their faults if I condemn;
'Tis not with you I combat, but with them.
Return we to the hero of our song:
Who now but he the darling of the throng;
Known in the pulpit by seditious toils;
Grown into consequence by civil broils;
18

Three times he tried, and miserably fail'd
To overset the laws—the fourth prevail'd.
Whether as tool he acted, or as guide,
Is yet a doubt; his conscience must decide.
Meanwhile unhappy Jersey mourns her thrall,
Ordain'd by vilest of the vile to fall;
To fall by Witherspoon—O name, the curse
Of sound religion, and disgrace of verse.
Member of Congress we must hail him next:
Come out of Babylon, was now his text.
Fierce as the fiercest, foremost of the first,
He'd rail at Kings, with venom well-nigh burst:
Not uniformly grand—for some bye end
To dirtiest acts of treason he'd descend.
I've known him seek the dungeon dark as night,
Imprison'd Tories to convert or fright;
Whilst to myself I've humm'd, in dismal tune,
I'd rather be a dog than Witherspoon.
Be patient, reader—for the issue trust,
His day will come—remember, Heav'n is just.
Yes, Heav'n is just—what then can they expect,
Who, not impell'd by violence of sect—
Bred up in doctrines eminently pure,
19

Which loyalty instill, and peace ensure—
Yet idolize Rebellion's bleating calves,
Or meanly split their principles in halves.
Half priest, half presbyter, I mourn thee, White!
Half whig, half tory, Smith, canst thou be right?
O fools, to worship in forbidden ground,
O worse than rebels, who your mother wound!
What uproar now—what hideous monsters rush,
Whose recreant looks put honour to the blush?
Mixtures of pallid fear, and bloody rage,
Like Banquo's ghost tremendous on the stage;
These are from Georgia, from the southern sun;
Swift as Achilles, not to fight, but run;
Their hides all reeking from the British lash—
Queer gen'rals—Moultrie, Lincoln, Elbert, Ash.
Bring up yon wretched solitary pair,
Mark'd with pride, malice, envy, rage, despair.
Why are you banish'd from your comrades, tell?
Will none endure your company in hell?
That all the fiends avoid your sight is plain,
Infamous Reed, more infamous M'Kean.
Is this the order of your rank agreed;
Or is it base M'Kean, and baser Reed?
20

Go, shunn'd of men, disown'd of devils, go,
And traverse desolate the realms of woe.
Ye pow'rs, what noise, what execrable yell!
How now, Dick Peters, hast thou emptied hell?
Legions and shoals of all prodigious forms,
Loud as the rattling of a thousand storms,
Gorgons in look, and Caffres in address,
Dutch, Yankies, Yellow-wigs for audience press.
Wretches, whose acts the very French abhor;
Commissioners of loans, and boards of war,
Marine committees, commissaries, scribes,
Assemblies, councils, senatorial tribes,
Vain of their titles all attention claim;
Proud of dishonour, glorying in their shame.
Ask you the names of these egregious wights?
I could as soon recount Glendower's sprites.
Thick as musquitos, venomously keen;
Thicker than locusts, spoilers of the green;
Swarming like maggots, who the carcass scour
Of some poor ox, and as they crawl, devour;
They'd mock the labour of a hundred pens:
“Back, owly-headed monsters, to your dens.”
21

At length they're silenc'd—Laurens, thou draw near;
What I shall utter, thou attentive hear:
I loathe all conference with thy boist'rous clan;
But now with thee I'll argue as a man.
What could incite thee, Laurens, to rebel?
Thy soul thou wouldst not for a trifle sell.
'Twas not of pow'r the wild, insatiate lust;
Mistaken as thou art, I deem thee just.
Saw'st thou thy King tyrannically rule?
Thou couldst not think it—thou art not a fool.
Thou wast no bankrupt, no enthusiast thou;
The clearness of thy fame e'en foes allow:
For months I watch'd thee with a jealous eye,
Yet could no turpitude of mind espy:
In private life I hold thee far from base;
Thy public conduct wears another face.
In thee a stern republican I view;
This of thy actions is the only clew.
Admit thy principles—I then demand,
Could these give right to desolate a land?
Could it be right, with arbitrary will
To fine, imprison, plunder, torture, kill!
Impose new oaths, make stubborn conscience yield,
And force out thousands to the bloody field?
22

Could it be right to do these monstrous things,
Because thy nature was averse to Kings?
Well, but a stern republican thou art;
Heav'n send thee soon to meet with thy desert!
Thee, Laurens, foe to monarchy we call,
And thou, or legal government, must fall.
Who wept for Cato, was not Cato's friend;
Who pitied Brutus, Brutus would offend;
So, Laurens, to conclude my grave harangue,
I would not pity tho' I saw thee hang.
Bless me! what formidable figure's this,
That interrupts my words with saucy hiss?
She seems at least a woman by her face,
With harlot smiles adorn'd and winning grace:
A glittering gorget on her breast she wears;
The shining silver two inscriptions bears;
Servant of Servants, in a laurel wreath,
But Lord of Lords is written underneath.
A flowing robe, that reaches to her heels,
From sight the foulness of her shape conceals,
She holds with poison'd darts a quiver stor'd
Circean potions, and a flaming sword.
This is Democracy—the case is plain;
23

She comes attended by a motley train:
Addresses to the people some unfold;
Rods, scourges, fetters, axes, others hold;
The sorceress waves her magic wand about,
And models at her will the rabble rout;
Here Violence puts on a close disguise
And Public Spirit's character belies.
The dress of Policy see Cunning steal,
And Persecution wear the coat of Zeal;
Hypocrisy Religion's garb assume,
Fraud Virtue strip, and figure in her room;
With other changes tedious to relate
All emblematic of our present state.
She calls the nations—Lo! in crowds they sup
Intoxication from her golden cup.
Joy to my heart, and pleasure to my eye,
A chosen phalanx her attempts defy:
In rage she rises and her arrows throws;
O all ye saints and angels interpose!
Amazement! every shaft is spent in vain;
The sons of Truth inviolate remain.
Invulnerable champions, sacred band,
Behind the shield of Loyalty they stand;
24

Unhurt, unsullied they maintain their ground,
And all the host of heav'n their praises sound.
Yet too, too many feel her baneful spell;
Bleed by her shafts, or by her venom swell.
The cruel plague assaults each vital part;
Arise, some sage of Esculapian art!
Thee, Inglis, wise physician, thee I urge;
Direct the diet thou, prepare the purge.
Thou to the bottom probe the dangerous sore,
And in the wound the friendly balsam pour.
Enough for me the caustic to apply,
Twinge the proud flesh, and draw the face awry:
Thou, cure the parts which I have forc'd to feel;
I make the patient smart, but thou canst heal.

3. PART III.

When the wise ruler of Glubdubdrib's isle
Had entertain'd Sir Gulliver awhile,
With various spectacles of ancient days,
Kings crown'd with gold, and poets deck'd with bays;
25

Sages with pupils, tyrants with their slaves,
Heroes and traitors, senators and knaves;
When each instructive lesson was express'd,
And the rich banquet had suffic'd the guest:
Then wav'd the great controuler of the dead
His magic ensign, and the vision fled.
Have we less pow'r o'er that infernal crew
Which lately pass'd before us in review?
Our invocation summon'd up the pack:
Our potent word can send them headlong back.
Ye coxcomb Congressmen, declaimers keen,
Brisk puppets of the Philadelphia scene;
Ye numerous chiefs, who can or cannot fight;
Ye curious scribes, who can or cannot write;
Ye lawyers who, for law, confusion teach;
Ye preachers who, for gospel, discord preach;
Statesmen, who rule as none e'er ruled before,—
Mark, I dismiss you to the Stygian shore:
Away, fantastic, visionary throng!
Come, sober Reason, and direct the song.
But what can Reason in a world like this?
For one that plauds her, millions hate and hiss.
She shines, 'tis true, with ever blooming charms;
26

Peace in her look, and pleasure in her arms;
But not a guinea has she to bestow,
And men avoid her as a mortal foe.
Who without wealth would take her for a bride?
James Smith from childhood has her pow'r defied;
Hartley and Dickinson, as best may suit,
With, or without her, by the hour dispute;
'Tis said that once, on Burgoyne's strange affair,
She spake her mind, and made the Congress stare:
Perhaps with Laurens, (did not Laurens sell
His virtue for a name), she'd love to dwell.
Amidst the war of words, the roar of lungs;
The barbarous outcry of confederate tongues,
Seditious, busy, turbulent, and bold;
Votes to be bought, opinions to be sold,
What chance has Reason?—her soft voice in vain
May plead, lament, expostulate, complain;
With heav'n-born eloquence should angels speak,
Against the crisis Heav'n itself were weak:
Howl, all ye fiends, and all ye devils, bawl!
Will. Henry Drayton shall outdo you all.
When civil madness first from man to man
In these devoted climes like wildfire ran;
27

There were who gave the moderating hint,
In conversation some, and some in print:
Wisely they spake, and what was their reward?
The tar, the rail, the prison, and the cord.
Ev'n now there are, who bright in Reason's dress
Watch the polluted Continental press:
Confront the lies that Congress sends abroad;
Expose the sophistry, detect the fraud.
Truth's genuine maxims forcibly display:
Chandler and Coxe are proofs of what I say.
But knights of old, who wander'd thro' the world,
And fell destruction on enchanters hurl'd;
Slew fiery dragons, giants overcame,
And sav'd from ruin many a peerless dame;
Play'd not so deep, so desperate a stake,
As he who draws the pen for Virtue's sake.
For once the monster slain, the spell was broke;
And joy succeeded to the daring stroke:
The ladies bless'd their lovers with their charms,
And the knight rested from his feats of arms.
But error may not with such ease be quell'd;
28

She rallies fresh her force tho' oft repell'd.
Cut, hack'd, and mangled, she denies to yield,
And strait returns with vigour to the field:
Champions of truth, our efforts are in vain;
Fast as we slay, the foe revives again.
Vainly th' enchanted castle we surprize;
New monsters hiss, and new enchantments rise.
Was Samuel Adams to become a ghost,
Another Adams would assume his post:
Was bustling Hancock number'd with the dead,
Another full as wise might raise his head:
What if the sands of Laurens now were run,
How should we miss him—has he not a son?
Or what if Washington should close his scene,
Could none succeed him?—Is there not a Green?
Knave after knave as easy we could join,
As new emissions of the paper coin.
When it became the high United States
To send their envoys to Versailles' proud gates,
Were not three ministers produc'd at once?
Delicious group—fanatic, deist, dunce.
And what if Lee, and what if Silas fell,
Or what if Franklin should go down to hell;
Why should we grieve? the land, 'tis understood,
Can furnish hundreds equally as good.
29

When like a hill convuls'd, whose womb has nurs'd
Internal fires, the constitution burst;
What strange varieties we daily saw—
What prodigies of policy and law!
See in committees Ignorance preside;
Conventions met, and Folly was their guide;
Plan follow'd plan, first, second, and the third,
More barb'rous who can say, or more absurd.
With full consent, poor Reason was dethron'd;
The mad-man govern'd, and the wise man groan'd.
But why blot paper with these idle schemes?
Or why enum'rate undigested dreams?
Expose an opal to the solar ray,
And mark the beams that momentary play:
See the gay stone, in mimic robes array'd,
Glow in the red or in the purple fade;
In swift progression vary to the sight,
And run thro' all the different modes of light.
Go then, and count the colours as they rise;
Tell, if thou canst, the numbers of the dyes;
Each combination of the fluid mass;
Nor let the shifting of a sun-beam pass.
This once accomplish'd, thy sagacious pen
May note the phrenzies of impatient men,
30

The bands of faith and loyalty who break,
And roam the fields of popular mistake.
Truce with these flow'rs—the Times are out of joint;
Hence trifling—come we closer to the point:
Some muse attendant on th' eternal King,
Truth's radiant mirror for my guidance bring.
I ask not now the thunder and the fire;
The still small voice is all that I desire.
Stand forth, Taxation—kindler of the flame;
Inexplicable question, doubtful claim:
Suppose the right in Britain to be clear;
Britain was mad to exercise it here.
Call it unjust, or, if you please, unwise;
The Colonists were mad in arms to rise:
Impolitic, and open to abuse,
How could it answer—what could it produce?
No need for furious demagogues to chafe;
America was jealous, and was safe.
Secure she stood in national alarms,
And Madness only would have flown to arms.
Arms could not help the tribute, nor confound:
Self-slain it must have tumbled to the ground.
Impossible the scheme should e'er succeed,
Why lift the spear against a brittle reed?
31

But arm they would, ridiculously brave;
Good laughter, spare me; I would fain be grave:
So arm they did—the knave led on the fool;
Good anger, spare me; I would fain be cool:
Mixtures were seen amazing in their kind;
Extravagance with cruelty was joined.
The presbyterian with the convict march'd;
The meeting-house was thinn'd, the gaol was search'd:
Servants were seiz'd, apprentices enroll'd;
Youth guarded not the boy, nor age the old:
Tag, rag, and bobtail issued on the foe,
Marshal'd by generals—Ewin, Roberdeau.
This was not Reason—this was wildest rage,
To make the land one military stage:
The strange resolve, obtain'd the Lord knows how,
Which forc'd the farmer to forsake the plough;
Bade tradesmen mighty warriors to become,
And lawyers quit the parchment for the drum;
To fight they knew not why, they knew not what;
Was surely Madness—Reason it was not.
Next independence came, that German charm,
Of pow'r to save from violence and harm;
That curious olio, vile compounded dish,
32

Like salmagundy, neither flesh nor fish;
That brazen serpent, rais'd on Freedom's pole,
To render all who look upon it whole;
That half-dressed idol of the western shore,
All rags behind, all elegance before;
That conj'rer, which conveys away your gold,
And gives you paper in its stead to hold.
Heav'ns! how my breast has swell'd with painful throb
To view the phrenzy of the cheated mob:
True sons of liberty in flattering thought;
But real slaves to basest bondage brought:
Frantic as Bacchanals in ancient times,
They rush'd to perpetrate the worst of crimes;
Chas'd peace, chas'd order from each bless'd abode;
While Reason stood abash'd, and Folly crow'd.
Now, now erect the rich triumphal gate;
The French alliance comes in solemn state:
Hail to the master-piece of madness, hail;
The head of glory with a serpent's tail!
This seals, America, thy wretched doom:
Here, Liberty, survey thy destin'd tomb:
Behold, the temple of tyrannic sway
Is now complete—ye deep-ton'd organs, play;
33

Proclaim thro' all the land that Louis rules—
Worship your saint, ye giddy-headed fools.
Illustrious guardians of the laurel hill,
Excuse this warmth, these sallies of the quill:
I would be temperate, but severe disdain
Calls for the lash whene'er I check the rein:
I would be patient, but the teazing smart
Of insects makes the fiery courser start.
I wish'd for Reason in her calmest mood,
In vain—the cruel subject fires my blood.
When thro' the land the dogs of havock roar,
And the torn country bleeds in every pore,
'Tis hard to keep the sober line of thought:
The brain turns round with such ideas fraught.
Rage makes a weapon blunt as mine to pierce,
And indignation gathers in the verse.
More yet remains, of sense and honour stain'd;
Conventions broken, flags of truce detain'd:
A thousand foolish freaks my wrath provoke;
A thousand culprits ought to feel my stroke.
To treat of villains were exceeding hard,
And not to mention once thy name, Gerard.
34

But 'twere the work of Hercules to sweep
From the rank stable this enormous heap.
Such are the times—Cease, useless Satire, cease!
Each moment dire barbarities increase.
Ev'n while I write, a monster fierce and huge
Has fix'd his station in the land of Googe;
Virginian caitiff! Jefferson by name;
Perhaps from Jefferies sprung of rotten fame.
His savage letter all belief exceeds,
And Congress glories in his brutal deeds.
In the dark dungeon Hamilton is thrown:
The virtuous hero there disdains to groan:
There with his brave companions, faithful friends,
Th' approaching hour in silence he attends,
When, with his council, shall the wretch expire
Or by the British, or celestial fire!
O! may that hour be soon! for pity's sake,
Genius of Britain, from thy slumber wake,
Too long has Mercy spoke, but spoke in vain:
Let Justice now in awful terror reign.
Am I deceiv'd, or see I in the east
Tenfold the radiance of the day increas'd?
35

Britannia's guardian angel greets my eye,
In all th' unclouded lustre of the sky.
See his right hand a two edg'd weapon wield:
The double cross shines brilliant on his shield;
Hear him, ye just, and in his words rejoice:
Ye hearts of rancour, tremble at his voice.
‘Yet, yet a little, and the door of grace
‘Must close for ever on an impious race:
‘The sun that visits these unhappy climes,
‘Is weary to behold incessant crimes:
‘Angels, appointed from the Throne divine
‘To guard the land, their hopeless charge resign:
‘No more their gentle pleadings interpose;
‘Yet, yet a little, and the door shall close.
‘Ungrateful country, by my arms secur'd!
‘In thy behalf what have I not endur'd?
‘When from my grasp the sceptre thou wouldst rend—
‘From me, thy patron, thy protecting friend—
‘Did I not check my thunder in mid-air;
‘Far less inclin'd to punish than to spare?
‘Have I not labour'd ceaseless to reclaim
‘Thy frantic sons from misery and shame?
‘With bounty carried to excess I strove
36

‘Thy doubts, however causeless, to remove:
‘As speaks a father to his only child,
‘Amidst repeated provocations mild;
‘So have I wish'd thy errors to forgive,
‘And bid thee turn from wickedness, and live.
‘For this thy malice, swelling like a flood,
‘Has overpass'd all bounds, and foam'd with blood.
‘Outrage has follow'd outrage, shocking sight!
‘And streets have echoed, pulpits teem'd with spite.
‘The raving calumny, the dirty lie,
‘Treach'rous escape, assassination sly;
‘All monstrous crimes, which fiends themselves reject,
‘Within thy walls claim'd honour and respect.
‘Whatever honest, peaceable, or pure,
‘Dwelt in thy reach, to feel thy hate was sure:
‘The virtuous man was odious to the cause,
‘And he who sinn'd the most, gain'd most applause.
‘At length the day of Vengeance is at hand:
‘Th' exterminating Angel takes his stand:
‘Hear the last summons, rebels, and relent:
‘Yet but a moment is there to repent.
‘Lo! the great Searcher ready at the door,
‘Who means decisively to purge his floor:
‘Yes, the wise Sifter now prepares the fan
37

‘To separate the meal from useless bran.
‘Down to the centre from his burning ire
‘Ye foes of goodness and of truth, retire:
‘And ye, who now lie humbled in the dust,
‘Shall raise your heads, ye loyal and ye just;
‘Th' approving sentence of your Sov'reign gain,
‘And shine refulgent as the starry train.
‘Then, when eternal justice is appeas'd;
‘When with due vengeance heav'n and earth are pleas'd;
‘America, from dire pollution clear'd,
‘Shall flourish yet again, belov'd, rever'd:
‘In duty's lap her growing sons be nurs'd,
‘And her last days be happier than her first.’
38

THE WORD OF CONGRESS.

Tartaream intendit vocem.—
Virgil.

The Word of Congress, like a round of beef,
To hungry Satire gives a sure relief:
No trifling tid-bits to delude the pen;
But solid victuals, cut and come again.
Whitfield, 'tis said, this simile was thine:
Unapt for thy discourse, it suits with mine.
O P---n, I should think it joy supreme
To win thy kind attention to my theme:
To cheer thy heart, with native humour fraught,
And steal thee from the painful task of thought.
Oft has thy lib'ral, thy capacious mind
Griev'd for the wicked, sorrow'd for the blind;
Deplor'd past errors, present ills bemoan'd,
And anxious for the future deeply groan'd.
Were it not best to quit these gloomy views,
39

And join the sportful sallies of the Muse?
Smile at those evils we must both endure,
And laugh at follies which we cannot cure?
Come, friend, and let us mock, till mirth be stirr'd
In every vein, the many colour'd Word.
Oh! 'tis a Word of pow'r, of prime account:
I've seen it like the daring Osprey mount;
I've seen it like a dirty reptile creep,
Rush into flame, or plunge into the deep;
I've heard it like a hungry lion roar,
Who tears the prey, and bathes himself in gore;
I've seen it softer than the vernal rain,
Mildly descending on the grassy plain—
I've heard it pious, as a saint in pray'r—
I've heard it like an angry trooper swear—
I've known it suit itself to ev'ry plan—
I've known it lie to God, and lie to Man.
Have you not read the marvellous escapes
Of Proteus shifting to a thousand shapes?
Have you not seen the wonders of the stage,
When Pantomime delights a trifling age?
Such and more various, such and more absurd,
Charles Thomson, witness of the changeful Word.
40

He'll sign to anything, no matter what:—
At truth alone his pen would make a blot.
There dwelt in Norriton's sequester'd bow'rs,
A mortal bless'd with mathematic pow'rs.
To whom was David Rittenhouse unknown?
Fair Science saw, and mark'd him for her own.
His eye Creation to its bounds would trace—
His mind, the regions of unbounded Space.
Whilst thus he soar'd above the starry spheres,
The Word of Congress sounded in his ears:
He listen'd to the voice with strange delight,
And swift descended from his dazzling height;
Then, mixing eager with seditious tools,
Vice-President elect of rogues and fools,
His hopes resign'd of philosophic fame—
A paltry statesman Rittenhouse became.
A Saint of old, as learned monks have said,
Preach'd to the Fish—the Fish his voice obey'd.
The same good man conven'd the grunting herd,
Who bow'd obedient to his pow'rful word:
Such energy had truth, in days of yore;
Falsehood and nonsense, in our days, have more
Duffield avows them to be all in all,
41

And mounts, or quits the Pulpit, at their call.
In vain New Light displays her heav'nly shine;
In vain attract him Oracles divine;
Chaplain of Congress give him to become,
Light may be dark and Oracles be dumb.
It pleas'd Saint Anthony to preach to brutes;
To preach to Devils best with Duffield suits.
Tim Matlack once had credit and esteem:
His follies made them vanish as a dream.
By all his former friends abandon'd quite,
Game-cocks and Negroes were his sole delight.
Vagrant and poor, his reputation slurr'd,
He hasten'd to obey the factious Word.
Who now so active in the Cause as Tim?
Tho' death to honour, it was life to him.
Restor'd to Consequence, tho' not to Grace,
Behold him fill the Secretary's place!
His pen can write you paragraphs by scores;
His valour kick two Quakers out of doors:
Tim for their champion let the People dub;
Yet Virtue still must hold him for a scrub.
Kerr, and Carmichael, Ishmaelites obscure;
Who deem that all things to the pure are pure;
42

Hag-rid by Congress, by sedition stirr'd,
Desert the Bible to proclaim the sword.
Such force attends the fascinating sound,
Murder is sainted, perjury renown'd.
Spencer and Caldwell, evangelic pair—
This a smooth serpent, that a furious bear—
With equal zeal, but different cast of head,
Prepar'd the Doctrine of the Word to spread.
One on the thunder of his tongue relied:
The other, wisely to his pen applied.
Figures and tropes rough Spencer chose to pour:
Arabian figures suited Caldwell more.
The first was bold in treasonable talk;
The second took the Commissary's walk.
Both were detested, as they both deserv'd;
But while the penman throve, the spokesman starv'd.
Spencer a martyr falls to rage and rum;
While Caldwell safe retires with half a plumb.
Tucker, from want and dirt and darkness sprung,
Of formal face, and Oliverian tongue—
'Scap'd from the gallows, gain'd the mob's esteem;
But no promotion could from fraud redeem.
No rank his heart to honesty could fix;
43

Still graceless he pursued his native tricks:
Now rose against him the tumultuous den:
The Dev'l himself can sometimes rail at sin;
Too much a knave for knaves themselves to bear,
Abhorr'd by all men, Tucker quits the chair.
Paschal, who never right from wrong could tell;
Who never yet could read, or write, or spell;
From last, from awl, from cutting-knife is torn,
While tanners weep, and half-shod soldiers mourn.
He's now a Justice—wherefore should we grudge?
When Cong. reigns King, a Cobbler may be Judge.
These are poor characters—Rise, Satire! rise,
And seize on villains of superior size.
Let censure reach to Shippen and to Yates,
Or dignify the verse with Greene and Gates:
Expose the meanness of the P***s to view,
Or strike at Willing, Hamilton, and Chew:
Macdougall, Maxwell, Muhlenberg attack,
Or Baylor clad in white, or Knox in black:
Or blast Poughkeepsie's Lord, who soils a fame,
That never but in him was doom'd to shame.
Or vengeful draw the weapon from the sheath,
And plunge it in the murd'rous breast of Heath.
44

The blust'rer; the poltroon; the vile; the weak;
Who fight for Congress, or in Congress speak,
Or to its edicts cowardly submit,
Alike should undergo the lash of wit.
Come, Mifflin, let me put thee on the stage:
As thou with Britain, war with thee I wage.
Fierce Mifflin foremost in the ranks was found:
Ask you the cause? He owed ten thousand pound.
Great thanks to Congress, and its doughty Word,
He cancell'd debts by flourishing his sword!
Not that he cares for Congress, or its voice;
Broils are his Int'rest, Tumult is his choice.
But that he wants the necessary skill
A pliant people to inflame at will:
But that his genius yields to Roberdeau,
In every art of managing the low:
Confusion would in aid of Justice rise,
Revenge the widow's groans, the orphan's cries;
The robbers of their ill-got treasure rob,
And give Joe Reed a victim to the mob.
Gates I have nam'd, but have not yet forsook:
Step forward, Gates—and tremble at my look.
Can'st thou, most harden'd tho' thou art, sustain
45

The glance of anger mingled with disdain?
I've seen thy father—has thy pride forgot—
Mean was his office—very mean his lot.
A gracious Master overlook'd thy birth,
And rais'd thee far above the dregs of earth.
Each act of favour how hast thou return'd?
How all the laws of sacred Honour spurn'd?
What vile ingratitude thy soul has shown,
Is fit for devils to relate alone.
Go hide, abandon'd monster, hide thy head—
Go fly, if fly thou can'st, from inward dread—
Call cliffs, call mountains on thee to descend:
But rocks nor hills from terror shall defend.
In Hell seek refuge—even there thou'lt find
A fiercer hell hot-bursting in thy mind.
Where, where is Sinclair? Takes he to his heels?
Blows aim'd at Gates by instinct Sinclair feels.
He too fought nobly in his Country's cause;
He too the sword against his Sov'reign draws.
Like Gates entangled in rebellion's snare,
He too, like him, should tremble and despair.
What comfort can they hope, what peace deserve,
Who forfeit virtue, and from duty swerve?
46

Avenging furies shall their steps pursue
Till, chas'd from earth, they join th' infernal crew.
********, whose meanness in the prime of life,
Allow'd old ********** to pollute his wife;
Who still, regardless of the filthy blot,
Owns all the bastards that the letcher got;
In age, and equally to honour's grief,
From a tame cuckold grows a rebel chief.
O! may no saucy cannons round him roar;
No rude courtmartials vex his quiet more;
His days awhile, good Destiny, secure:
Tho' stinking, great; and wealthy, tho' impure.
Yes, let him live, kind Fate; but live abhorr'd,
Till Justice fastens to his neck the cord.
Amidst ten thousand eminently base,
Thou, Sullivan, assume the highest place!
Sailor, and farmer—barrister of vogue—
Each state was thine, and thou in each a rogue.
Ambition came, and swallow'd in a trice,
Like Aaron's rod, the reptile fry of vice.
One giant passion then his soul possess'd,
And dreams of lawless sway disturb'd his rest.
He gave each wild imagination scope,
47

And flew to Congress on the wings of hope.
Behold him there, but still behold him curst—
He sate in Congress; but he sate not first—
What could the fever of his mind compose?
Make him a Gen'ral: Gen'ral straight he grows.
Head of a shirtless, shoeless gang he strides,
While Wisdom stares, and Folly shakes her sides.
And must I sing the wonders of his might?
What are they?—Rout, captivity, and flight.
Rhode-Island saw him to her forts advance,
Assisted by the ships of faithless France:
Rhode-Island saw him shamefully retreat,
In imitation of the Gallic fleet.
His banners last on Susquehannah wav'd,
Where, lucky to excess, his scalp he sav'd.
All these, and more whose praise must be deferr'd,
Seditious rose when Congress gave the word:
Of various principles; from various soils;
Smit with desire of change, or love of broils.
As when an ass with hideous clamour brays,
Unnumber'd asses loud their voices raise:
As when a restless ram the fence o'erleaps,
Flocks leave their grazing, and pursue in heaps:
48

So, at one noisy, turbulent command,
Contagion seiz'd and uproar fill'd the land.
All rush'd like frighten'd sheep, to join the Cause;
Or in sonorous cadence bray'd applause.
Come, heav'n-born Truth, and analyze a Word
To all things human and divine preferr'd!
Guide of the will, and ruler of the heart—
Why not examine each component part?
Impress'd so deeply, and diffus'd so wide,
It ought the test of Reason to abide:
Serene and beautiful in outward face,
Within, all wisdom, sanctity, and grace:
Impartial it should be, and void of faults;
It should—but Truth from this account revolts.
Far other portrait the prevailing Word
From Truth's unerring pencil has incurr'd.
Bid her describe the Congress:—straight she draws
An hydra-headed form, with harpies' claws—
Lo! num'rous mouths hiss, chatter, bark, or croak:
Here, one like Cacus belches fire and smoke;
The second like a monkey grins and chats;
A third squalls horrible, like angry cats:
Here, you've the growls and snarlings of a dog;
49

And there the beastly gruntings of a hog.
Others affect the puritanic tone;
The whine, the cant, the snuffle, and the groan.
In Candour's accents falsehoods some disguise;
Whilst others vomit forth essential lies—
All sounds delusive, all disgustful notes,
Pour like a torrent from their brazen throats,
To fill with rage the poor distracted crowd;
Whilst Discord claps her hands, and shouts aloud.
This harsh account should Charity distrust,
Yet sad Experience will pronounce it just.
Whoe'er the Word of Congress shall peruse,
In every piece will see it change its views:
Now, swell with duty to the King elate;
Now, melt with kindness to the parent state;
Then back to Treason suddenly revolve,
And join in Suffolk's infamous resolve.
Trace it thro' all the windings of the press,
Vote or appeal, petition or address,—
Trace it in every act—in every speech—
Too sure you'll find duplicity in each.
Mark now its soothing, now its threat'ning strain;
Mark its hypocrisy, deceit, chicane;
From the soft breathings of the new-form'd board,
50

To that fell hour when Independence roar'd;
Forc'd, you'll acknowledge since Creation's dawn,
Earth never yet produc'd so vile a spawn.
But still, in Britain, many disbelieve—
I own, 'tis hard such baseness to conceive.
Who, that beheld these foul impostors rave
When Law confirmed the rights that Treaties gave:
Heard them foretell Religion's general wreck,
From Romish faith establish'd in Quebec:
Who, that observ'd all this, could e'er opine
That Saints like these with Popery should join?
Imagination must it not surpass,
That Congress should proceed in pomp to Mass?
Yet that they did, authentic proofs can show;
Myriads the frontless act—nay, millions—know.
Here, gentle reader, we'll go back a space,
Two famous missions of the Word to trace.
Saint *****, with a priest in either hand,
Devoutly travell'd to Canadian land:
For those who should rebel, a copious store
Of Absolutions our apostles bore.
In faith, it prov'd a memorable job:
Its gracious sounds avail'd not with the mob—
51

Like Paul at Lystra, it provok'd the stones,
And scarce the factious preachers sav'd their bones.
McWhorter, Spencer, with the same designs;—
A brace of flaming, pestilent divines,—
To Carolina went, by Cong.'s decree,
From oaths the fetter'd populace to free.
Ridiculous attempt; unhallow'd work;
Plain sense abhorr'd the miserable quirk;
The wretched bigots were dismiss'd with jeers,
But kept ('twas more than they deserv'd) their ears.
Not so discourag'd, the prolific Word
To more successful artifice recurr'd.
Swarms of deceivers, practis'd in the trade,
Were sent abroad to gull, cajole, persuade;
Scoff with the scoffer; with the pious pray;
Drink with the drunkard; frolick with the gay:
All things to all with varied art become,
And bribe with paper, or inflame with rum.
Others, apart in some obscure recess,
The studied lie for publication dress:
Prepare the vague report, fallacious tale;
Invent fresh calumnies; revive the stale;
Pervert all records sacred and profane:
And chief among them stands the villain Paine.
52

This scribbling imp, 'tis said, from London came,
That seat of glory, intermixed with shame;
Imperial City, Queen of Arts enroll'd,
But full of vice as Sodom was of old;
Once with the deathless name of Barnard grac'd;
By Wilkes, and Bull, and Sawbridge now defac'd.
Our hireling author having chang'd his soil,
True son of Grubstreet, here renew'd his toil.
What cannot ceaseless impudence produce?
Old --- knows its value, and its use.
He caught at Paine; reliev'd his wretched plight;
And gave him notes, and set him down to write.
Fire from the Doctor's hints the miscreant took;
Discarded truth, and soon compos'd a book:
A pamphlet which, without the least pretence
To reason, bore the name of Common Sense.
No matter what you call this dogg'rel stuff,
Bad as it was, it pleas'd; and that's enough.
The work like wildfire through the Country ran,
And Folly bow'd the knee to ---'s plan.
Sense, reason, judgment were abash'd and fled;
And Congress reign'd triumphant in their stead.
O hapless Land! O People void of brains!
My heart bleeds for you, tho' my soul disdains.
53

Deep schemes ensued, to all appearance vague,
But fitted to disseminate the plague.
From the back woods half savages came down,
And awkward troops paraded ev'ry town.
Committees and Conventions met by scores;
Justice was banish'd—Law turn'd out of doors;
Disorder seem'd to overset the land;
They, who appear'd to rule, the tumult fann'd,
But cunning stood behind with sure controul;
And in one centre caus'd to meet the whole.
By what contrivance this effect was gain'd;
How the new States were finish'd and sustain'd;
All, all should be held up to public scorn;
An useful lesson to the child unborn!
But this would open an immense career,
And into port 'twere prudent now to steer.
Much have we labour'd in tempestuous seas:
'Tis time to give the shatter'd vessel ease.
When once refitted, we'll again display
Satire's red ensign on the wat'ry way;
Again encounter the rebellious Flag,
And from the staff the stripes of Faction drag;
These pirates hov'ring on the coast disperse,
And chase them with the flowing sail of verse.
54

O! grace of every Virtue—meek ey'd maid—
Sweet Modesty, in purple robes array'd—
Think me not vain of these enervate lines,
These feeble colourings, and faint designs.
To bring some stouter Champion on the scene
Is all I meditate, is all I mean.
I but endeavour to amuse the Foe,
Till Genius rise and deal the fatal blow.
But Genius, careless of his charge, sits still,
And lets the monster Congress rage at will:
Lifts not the terror of his pond'rous lance:
Arrests not those who sell the land to France:
Tilts not with bitter Wayne, with boist'rous Lee;
But leaves the task to Weakness, and to me.
Thus, till some favour'd mortal raise his voice,
I must go on—'tis duty, and not choice.
Sister of Wisdom, Goddess of the Song,
Protect the meanest of the tuneful throng!
And when the feather'd weapon I prepare,
Once more to lay the villain's bosom bare;
Let inspiration from th' ethereal height
Shed on my soul her vivifying light—
Poetic ardour, strength of thought infuse,
The life, the spirit, of a glowing muse.
55

Ask I too much? then grant me for a time
Some deleterious pow'rs of acrid rhyme:
Some ars'nic verse, to poison with the pen
These rats, who nestle in the Lion's den!
Sept. 1779.
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