 | Muscipula sive Cambromyomachia : the mouse-trap, or the battle of the Welsh and the mice |  |
80
TO A CERTAIN BRAVE OFFICER JUST RETURNED FROM THE CAMPAIGN, 1759.
(EXTEMPORE.)
[_]
N. B.—The individual addressed was a notorious braggadocio, and withal, a finished dandy; wearing his hair highly dressed adn tucked up with a comb. His better half was a perfect contrast to her spouse.
1
Hah! Captain Queue!—what, is it you?And may I squeeze your thumb, sir?
Yes, on my word—I see your sword,
Well, you are welcome home, sir.
2
From summer's heat—from toil and sweat,Borne for a trifling sum, sir;
To peaceful rest—in your own nest,
You're very welcome home, sir.
3
From Northern snows—which Boreas blows,That makes one's fingers numb, sir;
To the bright spires—of winter fires,
You're very welcome home, sir.
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4
From tents in camp—so cold and damp,To your convenient dome, sir,
Safe from the storm—so dry and warm,
You're very welcome home, sir.
5
From the bleak coasts—where Northern gustsMake wild Ontario foam, sir;
To Nassau's shores—where ocean roars,
You're very welcome home, sir.
6
From war's dread noise—the cannon's voice,And daily beat of drums, sir;
To the shrill notes—of female throats,
You're very welcome home, sir.
7
From savage blades—whose painted headsAppear so dreadful glum, sir;
To the soft looks—of civil folks,
You're very welcome home, sir.
8
From war's alarms—from fatal harms,From powder, bullets, bombs, sir;
To Sylvia's charms—in Sylvia's arms,
You're very welcome home, sir.
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9
From Mohawk squaws—against the laws,Converted into strums, sir;
T' a sober life—with your own wife,
You're very welcome home, sir.
10
At your return—through spite and scorn,Your enemies are dumb, sir;
But for my part—with all my heart,
I bid you welcome home, sir.
11
Alive again—from the campaignI'm glad to see you come, sir;
Safe from the war—without a scar,
You're very welcome home, sir.
12
The rapid flight—of balls in fightHas proved the death of some, sir;
Your life you chose—not to expose,
Lest you should ne'er come home, sir.
13
You've struck no blows—subdu'd no foes,Nor were you overcome, sir;
You scal'd no Alps—'tis true, for scalps,
Yet you have safe got home, sir.
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14
If you can't fight—with such delightAs you can wear a comb, sir;
Yet well I know—that you can crow,
Come, then, you're welcome home, sir.
15
Others aspire—to ranks still higher,And greater men become, sir;
But you content—plain Captain went,
And such you are come home, sir.
16
You went to quell—that imp of hell,I mean the Pope of Rome, sir;
And now you may—at leisure slay
The Man of Sin at home, sir.
17
My joyful tongue—has run so long'Tis almost tir'd; but mum! sir:
I cannot stay—but must away—so once for aye,
You're very welcome home, sir.
| Muscipula sive Cambromyomachia : the mouse-trap, or the battle of the Welsh and the mice | |