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A challenge comes. A challenge? mercy
From one as hot as Hotspur Piercy—
A challenge! what? to fight a duel?
I'd live ten years on water gruel,
Rather than stand up to be shot at,
Like a racoon that can't be got at.

You may shoot him—what's that to me,
That I receive or give phlebotomy?
The profit and loss of both are equal,
I shall gain nothing in the sequel.
Will not the world approve your courage?
Will that procure me food or forage?

Mac Millan the ecclesiastic,
Will burn me with religious caustic;
Tell all the people that the devil,
Has bound me hand and foot to evil.
Can I avoid the horrid fury
Of Presbyterian judge and jury?
No. No. 'Tis best t' avoid the sin,
And sleep as usual in a whole skin.

Besides; the thing is no degraded—
The lowest classes have invaded
The duel province. What reputation
When the scum and worst of the nation,

Can fight, and say—“We men of honor”—
It is a burlesque; I would soone
Put my head i'th' fire, than on a level,
Be placed, with every silly devil
That fights a duel now-a-days—
The thing was once a thing of praise,
When noble knights and mounted esquires,
With lances and with warlike whiskers,
Fought for the honour of fair ladies,
If all is true that sung and said is.
But what pretence has this same codhead,
Or I myself with pistol loaded;
He but a pedlar, a mere trot-bogger,
I but a simple pettifogger;
What right have we t' usurp a province
Sacred to valor and to love once;
To measure weapons in such battle,
Who are but ordinary cattle?

Shew me your ancestry and knighthood,
Which those must do who fight would,
With crests of arms, escutcheons,
Mottos, devices Welsh, or Dutch ones.
Deduce your pedigree from Orson,
Valentine or some such whoreson;
Shew you are of the breed of War'ick
Who killed a mad cow at a hay rick.
Then I admit without more question,
Your right to chivalry and fustian.

'Tis true there may be found such mortals
Whom nature in her phrenzy curtails,

Of goodness and of mental merit,
Like a mad devil or foul spirit;
Who out of time have had a licence,
To put down reason, and lay by sense,
To cut society asunder,
And make the modestest knock under,
The death of such is but a small loss,
Whether by the duel or the gallows.

Shall I make these my model, whose skull
To myself and others may be useful,
Who has spent a term of thirty years,
To put my mental powers in geers,
School, college, academy,
All to replenish the head of me;
And many a midnight lucubration
To make me one of the first o' th' nation?

What the result of the encounter,
When I fall down as flat's a flounder
Shot dead? and only to be buried,
Remains when coroner has enquired.
Or, if by accident, or aiming,
I have the luck, 'tis all the same thing,
To put a ball in your belly, what the use?
I cannot make of you a goose.
Or turn you to a woodland turkey,
That houshold men may knife and fork ye;
Convert you to a salted salmon,
Or make of you a well-cur'd gamon.

Thus for the item of your cancase,
I set down nought. So 'tis a hard case
That I must kill you, or be kill'd
Ignobly on a private field,
Against the dictates of my conscience,
Obedient to the world's nonsense,
While those we leave behind on earth,
Make us the subject of their mirth.
In vain we hope for fame: our fate
Is forgotten at a day's date.
No muse funeral hangs our hearse,
With the bare fragment of a verse
Cast on the beech like dark sea-gulls,
We die th' unhallowed death of fools.

Take my advice, then let us solder
This feud of ours, before we're older;
Meet in the evening, take a bottle,
And leave disputes to Aristotle.

A Clergyman.

THE AUTHOR AND THE CRITIC.

A Dialogue.

Critic.
THE critic first possess'd the earth,
And by his rules gave authors birth.

Author.
I did not know you traced so high,
Your origin and ancestry,
What time you first begun dog-bark.
Were you with Noah in the ark?
In what compartment were you seen?
'Mongst creatures clean or the unclean?

Critic.

The critic, sir's, the natural father
Of every snifling, snuffling author;
And when you nod or snore or sleep
We slily on posteriors creep,
And rouse you to a bright exertion,
Of all your faculties, you whoreson.

How can there be idea of beauties,
Unless the critic genius shew't us:
The angle of the sight obtuse,
Can see no more than doth a goose,
While we with microscopic eye,
Examine as you would a fly,

See through the crevices of fancy,
As far as human eyesight can see,
Tell where there is or is not Grammar;
What phraseology wants hammer—
Or file to make the verse run smoother,
Where sound is harsh, or term uncouther.

Author.
I grant you see defects and errors,
Of those in genius your superiors:
The skin however smoothly carried,
To a flee's eye is deep and furrowed.
his optics may perceive a wart,
That grows upon the unseen part,
But for the beauty of the frame,
It is above the ken of them—
Thus critics tell that bard divine
Has a rough word in such a line,
Or that the sacred poem scarce
Can bear the trot of such a verse,
That feeble author in such sentence
Has not the vis, the spirit intense,
That Pagastus was lame when he rode,
Over this or that dull period,
They tell, but never felt the force,
Of genius in his rapid course.

Critic.
What? did not Quintillian fully,
Develope all the praise of Tully?

And 'mongst the Greek's, the great Longinus,
Who may be justly stil'd his highness,
With critic judgment join the fire,
Of Heaven itself? who can go higher?
From your vile accusation whose's safe?
Not even the elder scaliger Joseph,
Who had a mind as big's a mountain,
Could all defects and beauties contain,
And shew'd that Homer was inferior,
And Virgil hit perfection nearer.
Have you the assurance sir to speak,
Against the Roman worth and Greek?

Author.
So much we hear I believe that no man's,
Tongue is still of Greeks and Romans;
For if dispute should rise past curing,
Which way 'tis best to make our urine,
And each should argue stiffly his way,
All must give up, the Greeks piss'd this way.

Critic.
But there in modern times is Bently,
Who sung of Richard Blackmore daint'ly.

Author.

I grant it, Critic, there's a thousand;
The list beginning has nor knows end,
They swarm in millions from the flood—
The Hebrew critics first drew blood;

And this is what is meant by Babel
Where all we critics that were able.
The Rabbin and the Talmudist,
Fought hand to hand and fist to fist,
About the pentateuch of Moses;
Their tales, the wildest stuff, God knows is.

If there has been some Grecian critic,
Above the offspring of a seed-tic;
Yet where is one in modern days
Who can deserve that share of praise?
For metamorphos'd down to vermin,
Who can the various shapes determine.
And small and great are prone to mischief,
And every clan and sect has his chief.
They swarm like Caledonian cluster,
When the Mac Neils and Camrons muster;
Or as when housewife spreads her sugar,
With water mix'd, each insect rogue here,
Relinquishes pots, tubs and pails,
And for the booty spreads his sails.
Thus all the race of critics gather,
Around the footsteps of an author,
Bite through his overalls and stocking,
And biting shins, you know's no joking.
Who now a days sits down to write
Uninterrupted by a bite?
Unless he takes good care and puts on,
A pair of leggins or has boots on.

They say of Reynard who loves geese,
That when oppress'd with swarm of fleas

He takes in's mouth a lock of wool,
And gradually retires to pool;
The fleas by secret instinct led,
Fly from the tail and trunk to head,
With speed each mother's son o' th'm goes
To seek the promontory of nose,
And when no more remains abaft,
For shakes his head and leaves the raft.

Who could find out by book or sermon,
An equal way t' elude the vermin,
Would merit a rich premium more,
Than vers'd in philosophic lore,
The member who dissects a glow-worm,
To see if 'tis a beast and no worm.

I wish some virtuoso would,
Who natural history understood,
Dissect a critic, show his jaw teeth
Whether they are quite smooth or saw-teeth,
Resembling butterfly or asp,
Or long and pointed like a wasp;
And by the grinders edge determine,
Cornuting or carniv'rous vermin.
I'd give myself a golden medal,
To know if't has a brown or red tail,
And whether when it moves, it goes on
An hundred feet or half a dozen;
But many glasses must be ground out,
Before these mysteries can be found out.
I leave it to some great Linnæus,
Who may by this be fam'd as he was.

A Masque, written at the Warm-Springs, in Virginia, in the year 1784.

The Genius of the Wood.
I am the Genius of the shady wood;
Whose care it is to crown the swelling rivers,
And bid the mountains hide them from the heat
Of the solstitial ray; the Delaware
I crown with poplar and with boughs of oak;
The Susquehannah with the cherry tree;

Potomack wasted by the summer's sun,
And Rappahannock and the river James,
I crown with branches of the lofty pine:
The great Ohio, with her thousand sons
To Mississippi rolling on, I crown
With leaves of ash-wood and the sugar-tree
This is the day and this the well known place
Your presence is expected.

Potomack.
These springs we annually revisit;
But where the Genius of the tepid streams?
Whose task it is to warm them for the bath,
And touch them, with the sacred ore, which gives
Salubrious quality; this is his task,
In those recesses and deep caverns fram'd
By Neptune, where the mountain base o'erspreads.
his naiads there attend him and each brings
Her urn, and pours it where th' embosom'd rock
Gives current to the tide.

Genius of the Springs.
Great sire of fountains, on this annual day
I greet your presence.

Delaware.
You know, my son, this is the happy season,
When from our banks the gayest citizens,
To taste the water of the spring repair.
Is every drop ting'd with the mountain ore
And made medicinal? Is every drop

Through sand filtrated, that the chrystal glass
Of those who drink may be transparent with it?

Genius of the Springs.
The wave is nine times purified by fire;
The hundred naiads of th' embowering rocks
With pitchers from the subterranean flood
Have drawn the tide; the' alembic has distill'd
The tide to vapour; the mountain cistern
Has receiv'd the liquid current. Beds of ore
Have ting'd and sand has filtrated the stream
That every drop with power of health impregnate
Dispels all pain, all shape of malady,
That racks the system or the mind subdues.

Ohio.
Then bid the naiads of the vocal powers,
Haste hither with the nimble dance and song,
The virtue of the springs to celebrate;
And bid the deities of these rude hills
With Triton whom the goddess Thetis sent
Attune their chords in symphony with these.

Potomack.

Go tell the naiads and the jocund deities,
To call their choicest flowers; a noble name,
Has come this day to do them honour.
That chief whose fame has oft been heard by them,
In contest with Britannia's arms; that chief
Whom I myself have seen quitting the farm,

By no ambition, but by virtue led,
Arising at his country's call, and swift
The challenge of the vet'ran foe receiving.
My brother streams have told me his atchievements,
The oak-crown'd Hudson told me that he saw him,
Walk like a God upon his well fought banks.
The Raritan in Jersey told me of him;
But most the Delaware, whose noble tide
Roll'd his indignant waves upon the bank
And triumph'd on the heroic days
Of Brandywine, of Germantown and Monmouth;
The Rappahannock told me of the chief
When great Cornwallis yielded. With him I shed
A tear of lucent joy. The Chesapeake,
Oh! bay divine, thou heardst the victory,
And through thy hundred islands far and wide,
Rejoicing, there was gladness,

But when the rage of horrid war had ceas'd,
My son return'd; I mark'd his character....
No scorn appear'd upon his furrow'd brow,
his air was dignity and graceful ease
The same as when he left us, save that now
His visage worn with care shew'd more of age
I hail'd my son and bade him come with me
To taste the water of the healthful springs.

The Naiads
IN A DANCE.

Purest streams that gently flow
From the rock that covers you,
No decrease of tide you know,
Summer suns do not subdue.

Nor do storms fierce winter's brood
Rain or snow that comes with them,
Swell your current to a flood;
You are still, pure streams, the same.

Emblem this of that great chief,
Washington who made us free,
Shewing 'midst our joy and grief
Equal equanimity.

The dance continues with a second song.

The gentle streams flowing,
The trees around growing
And shadows now showing
Themselves o'er the spring.

No danger of wasting
Your water by tasting
Though many are hasting
To drink of the spring.

Third song with a dance.

Clear bursting fountains by you shall appear,
The gayest assemblies through each circling year;
To lead up the dance in these chearful abodes,
And live at their leisure the life of the Gods.

We taste of the streams and forget all our care:
Your virtues like Lethe, not fabulous are.
Your virtues expel all diseases and pain,
To those that are weak, they give vigour again.

The lame that come hither their crutches forego:
They leap and exult like the wild mountain roe,
Here youth is confirm'd in his vigour and bloom,
To age is given years and days yet to come.

They disappear.
Genius of the Woods.
Such is the virtue of these healthful springs,
Yet not in these alone salubrious quality.
Far west, and near thy source, Ohio, rising
There is a spring with copious oil embrown'd,
All chronic pain dispelling, at the touch,
And washing all scorbutic taint away,
As erst in Jordan was the Syrian king.
Th' inflexile joint, the fibre of old age
Relaxing, it gives youth and nimble motion.
The natives of the wood, my oldest sons,
Nor less than Hamadryades, my care;
All bathe in the smooth current, and receive
Returning health and vigour. Soon assembling
There, the modern race of men unnumber'd
In place of the discoloured native
Shall frequent its margin. The gods and naiads
There, as usual shall repair
While annually with festive song and dance,
They celebrate the virtue of the springs.

Washington.

The Oil-Spring on French creek.

On the running away of the Nineteen Members of Assembly from the house, when it was proposed to call a Convention to consider the new system of Congressional Government; and on the apology made by them in their address, &c.

A HUDIBRASTIC.

AWAY from me all jests and slurs,
On Pennsylvania senators,
Save those alone the Tergent few,
Who from the senate-house withdrew
When was proposed new government:
For as if demon had been sent,
To strike them with phrenetic fury,
They ran off headlong hurry scurry:
Some ran to cellars, or absconded
In kitchens, and were there impounded.
'Mongst these there ran a western wight,
Who took the fore way in the flight;
He got a garret by his clambering,
And lay all day in his mind hammering
Escape from danger and alarms
Of furious, fiery sergeant at arms,
Aided by tumultous rabble,
Who from the gallery slipt cable

To take and bring him to the house,
While here he lay entrenched like mouse.
But now uplifting eye 'midst barrels,
The caitiff spoke: ah me what perils
Environ when the city posse,
Draws fist enrag'd across the nose o' ye!
Enough to vex a son of Adam,
To be pursued by such a swad o'em
'Twas well I took the first door open,
Though here I ly pent up in cow pen.
Just at that instant came, the house-maid
Alarm'd by hearing such strange noise made,
Mistook the thing she saw for robber,
And was afraid he might play hob with her;
She scream'd aloud, up came the mistress,
To learn the occasion of the distress,
She join'd the scream, next came the host,
To see if 'twas a rat or ghost....
The wight began to claw his breech,
And make apologizing speech....
I am, said he, an assemblyman,
Who to this upper story ran....
Assemblyman!....by the life of Pharaoh,
You are from the wheel barrow,
Do not I hear the chains rattle,
That usually are ty'd to cattle?
With that he knock'd him down with bludgeon,
And drew him from his airy lodging,

And on the lower floor put question,
Has he a party colour'd vest on,
Or is his head shav'd? at this crisis,
Said one examine what his phiz is.
The wight was known, a senator!
No room to doubt it, or demur.
But now distinguish'd clear as day-light,
They wash'd his face and gave him eye-light:
And the domestics over-joy'd
Convey'd him to the house of Boyd.
Here were conven'd of the nineteen,
Who in the apostacy had been,
A dozen or more: say shall I use
Feign'd names as doth the inventive muse,
Or in direct expression call,
Each by his own name literal?
I chuse the first; then say there were,
Two orators of speech more clear,
Could scarce tell which of them was worthier;
Grogram the one, Bogram the other.
Grogram spoke first: ah what avails,
This stratagem of turning tails?
A house is made; the business done,
Convention will be call'd anon,
This system that we so much dread,
Will soon like cap he pull'd o'er head;
A hanging matter to our wishes,
Not giving time to say God bless us.
So universal is the current
We dare not openly make stir in't

But how to meditate side blow,
Is what we must determine now.
Bogram: one way is left alone,
To keep the thing from going down;
That is to make a contribution
Of clamour of the constitution.
In popular measure when good reason,
Has come across, and stop'd my weazon,
I oft have try'd this last resource,
And found it had a magic force,
To quell objections and prostrate,
All argument of sober weight....
Call constitution.
—Grogram now;
I fear my friend this will not do,
The thing is made a stalking horse,
So long that almost every nurse,
Knows that it is a pussy tabby,
To still the populace like baby;
A stratagem long us'd in war,
Is lost because familiar,
Like silly boy that oft cries fire,
Is reckoned by the others a liar,
Expedient of novel nature,
In state affairs is always better,
Unless some other scheme is got,
Our projects must all go to pot.
Now at this critical non plus,
Our wight arose and argued thus:

Though constitution's almost done,
There's still some picking in the bone,
A new occasion gives new use,
And let's the prejudices loose,
No writing can be understood,
Or read at once by the multitude,
And in obscurity there's fear;
So, we can get a foot-hold here,
Say that this novel government,
Is form'd by them with an intent
To eat up the offices of the state,
And make each one of themselves great;
That under this outrageous system
No man alive will dare say peas t' them,
That soldiers arm'd with battle axes,
Henceforward will collect the taxes;
That the convention in great fury,
Have taken away the trial by jury;
That liberty of the press is gone,
We shall be hang'd each mothers son;
Say Lord knows what, as comes in head,
Pretences for a scare crow made;
Tell them that Mason of Virginia,
And Randolph shun'd the ignominy
Of putting hand to the state paper,
And Eldridge Gerry made a caper,
The other way: say this and more t' 'em,
And leave the result of it to fortune,
Or in the words of better sense,
To good discretion and Providence.

Just at this moment came a writer,
Had drawn up all these paragraphs better;
It was in shape of an address,
In substance neither more nor less
Than an apology worth making,
For their disorderly HOUSE-BREAKING...
Accosting them; said he my masters
Here is the sovereign of all plaisters
For your desertion from the senate,
Cost me a good deal of pains to pen it;
The address was read; it was approved;
All made their marks to it as behoved;
The writer thank'd; nor could do less,
They hurry'd it away to the press.
Now Grogram rose....'Tis well what's done,
Though still we are but coming on;
For who so buried in the ocean
Of ignorance to credit notion,
That Washington could have design,
Our government to undermine,
Or aged Franklin to erase
Our constitution from the base.
Or other wise men of convention
Have such inferior intention;
Or that conspiring, one and all,
They form'd a plan tyrannical,
To eat up liberty among us
And make our laws a mere Mundungus?

Besides our names just put on paper,
Will sanction the convention labour;
For who will not give preference,
In point of reason and of sense,
To list of members from the states,
Compar'd with our inferior pates?
There's Wight himself just come from mooring,
His anchor on the upper flooring
Is in reality but a weaver,
Though at his trade he may be clever.
This gave offence to signior Wight,
Was almost angry enough to bite,
For true, he was of the occupation,
Nor did he think it a degradation,
Unless when waggs, just fiddle faddle,
In way of talk, would call him, Traddle,
But being now assemblyman,
He wish'd to put it off his hand,
And keep the mystery from view;
But we shall call him Traddle too.
Just for the whim of the odd name,
For what we call him 'tis the same....
Provided we but know what's meant,
Which of all language is the intent;
Then as he means to speak. BE IT KNOWN,
Traddle is the name he must own.
Traddle....stop, sir, 'tis ill bred,
To throw reflections on a trade....
What tho' I drive a shuttle, yet,

I may be charg'd with affairs of state,
A weaver is as good's a farmer,
And often by profession far more,
Vers'd in news and politics,
So no more of your dry tricks
To slur men's calling....
—Pardon sir,
Quoth Grogram, I mean not to slur,
Or give opinion of the matter,
Or move at your expence my laughter,
I only hint what others may,
Invidiously in this case, say,
When they compare both lists together,
That of convention and this, whether,
The occupation and the trading,
Will not be brought heels over head in,
As whether you or old Ben Franklin,
Ought to be follow'd in the wrangling....
You skill'd in woof and warp, while he
Has travell'd ever land and sea
Survey'd all states and the foundation
Of government through every nation;
Not that I doubt you may be equal
To him and shew it in the sequel,
But some may doubt you could at once
By force of yourself make such a bouce.
Grogram: I verily believe.
Bogram has no design to give
Offence to Traddle; but what's true,
In this case, 'twill give much ado,

To overpower the names against us,
Although we take the greatest pains t'us;
But let us do what can be done.
For instance, as to Washington,
Say his skill lies wholly in arms,
And care of his Virginia farms;
But nothing knows of state affairs,
No more than Buff'lo does of prayers;
And as to Franklin say he fails,
In judgment as his age prevails;
These hints will help the lame dog over
The stile and give us time moreover,
To breathe awhile; the worst o' the worst
Is but to be where were at first.
Thus having spoke all bow'd acclame
And seem'd to think the very same!
Just at this instant came a writer;
What if I should throw in my mite here?
Give inuendoes out in legions
And string objections up like pigeons—
Here is a piece sign'd Centinel
If that will do, as false as hell,
This may accompany the address
As greater snake is by the less.
It was approv'd and Traddle spoke,

A Publication at this time in numbers against the adoption of the Constitution.

Grogram and Bogram, you are folk,
Who know the tricks and quirks of law,

What power it has to clapper claw;
Say in your wisdom what redress,
Against insurgents more or less,
Who with such after claps broke loose,
When we absconded from the house;
Is not such overshot of rage,
Breach of assembly privilege?
Where commonwealth in her own right,
May order attorney to indict?

Grogram—amongst ourselves I say't
I rather fear event that state
Will order bill for misdemeanour,
Against us taken in the mainour
Of BREAKING HOUSE. It may be said,
That run-away match we have made,
Is in despight of rule and order,
And doth on cort of treason border,
Dissolving government at once,
By such clandestine kind of sconce
And terg'versation.
—Bogram—I differ;
For has it not been argued ever
That constitution needs a check,
Of upper house, to take by th' neck
The lower; Now out a house may be,
Of the same use. Minority,
In any instance may withdraw,
And give a negative to the law.

Traddle—Just my opinion of the matter,
It is the speediest check in nature,

And leaves the government still simple,
Those therefore who would compel,
Our pers'nal presence when absconding,
By riotous assault and wounding,
Deserve the rigour of the law,
With every kind of clapper claw,
Of action and indictment hill,
And punishment against their will
For the misprision.
—Grogram to Traddle:
But when the juries come to meddle,
With time and place and where of the assault,
Whether in garret or in vault,
And how we hasten'd from the sergeant,
Dispatch'd to bring us message urgent,
The circumstance against us there,
May seem t' affect our character.
For instance it may come to our spouses
That we were found in bawdy houses,
Or that with wine being mellower,
Had fallen down the steps of a cellar.
It may be said by way of burlesque,
That Traddle while he lay at his risque,
In garret was of the UPPER HOUSE,
And other things ridiculous.
It may be said that skunks we are
And wage posterior kind of war:
For when we mean the most t' offend;
We turn about the other end.

Scarce ended speech when Boyd the host,
Rush'd in and bid each take his post,
In other quarters of the town,
For there was Barry coming down,
With half a legion of the posse,
Swearing should he come across ye,
To tar and feather ye like geese,
And tear my house down in a trice.

Captain.

A word to the wise was here enough,
The orators and groupe ran off
And when poor Barry came to search,
He found he was left in the lurch.

Apology for the Dissentients in the State Convention.

[_]

THE preceding was not without its effect at the time; but as the Hudibrastic rhyme had attracted attention and was in the mouths of the people, and the minority continuing to justify the secession it was thought not amiss to follow it up with another scrap in the same vein of irony and burlesque.

AS natural bodies are made up,
Of higher, lower, bottom, top,
In other words of head and tall,
So bodies politick as well,
Of upper, nether, end should be.
Why then indignant do we see,
Such things: Traddle and Humbugum,
And Tadryhash, and hogum mogum,
'Mongst managers of state affairs,
Of which they know no more than bears?
Will not a sample such as these,
With sense not half so much as geese,
Serve properly to represent,
The ignorance by which they're sent,
And shew that in the common weal,
There is a head as well as tail?

There's no philosopher but construes,
That thing a prodigy, or monstrous,
Which from the natur'd shape departs,
And has not all its proper parts.
'Twas thus devising, the nineteen,
Who in the apostacy were seen.
When first the question was propos'd
The general government oppos'd;
Because when others got a start,
'Twas right to be th' inferior part,
And for the sake of natural order,
With head above, posteriors vnder,
And least the contrary should prevail,
Did actually themselves turn tail.

Then why upbraid assemblymen,
For what was modesty in them;
Or why arraign convention members,
For being sort of under timbers,
I'th the state ship, by holding back,
When weightiest interest was at stake,
And still preserving natural order,
Of stem and stern would go no further?
They say themselves in their dissent,
'Twas on this principle they went,
Because in constitution novel,
They could not toss up with a shovel,
To rank of Congress, weavers, coopers,
And every sort of interlopers,
To be a draw-back on affairs,
And lurch the house at unawares.

I grant there's not a grain of sense,
In what they liberally dispense,
(And marks the heart bad, or the head dull,)
Of constitution wanting schedule
Or inventory, or if you will,
A kind of apothecary bill
Of rights—For is not instrument
Which gives the idea of government,
The schedule or the bill in question,
And gives in article and section—
What right each state has in the union,
And what the whole have in communion?

But still that argument has weight,
Which turns which way it will the pate,
Nor should discarded be a phrase,
Which puzzles so the populace.
The term itself is good enough
In British constitution wove,
A statute which bank'd out the crown,
Whose boundary had not been known—
But where no crown is to oppose,
What there's to do with it, God knows,
No matter, for it answers purpose,
And helps an arguer out in discourse.

I grant I would have studied years,
To raise objections and bug-bears
Before this would have cross'd my wizzen,
As having the least shew of reason;
Or when suggested could believe,
That men such nonsense would receive—

But is there not in all things else,
A kind of toss up, heads and tails,
And great effects do oft arise
From cause too small for human eyes;
Nor can at all times sages tell,
By philosophic lore or spell,
How the inferior means may work,
Which under inexperience lurk.

When first I heard the phrase I laugh'd,
As if the devil himself had calv'd,
The strange absurdity—forsooth,
“It takes away the rights of both,
The heart and head:” Though by the bye,
No mortal can tell how or why—
Let any man consult his own sense,
And say how liberty of conscience,
Can be restrain'd in an ill hour,
By Congress who have no such power.
Or how the freedom of the press,
Can be molested more or less,
With which they have no more to do,
Than with the Alcoran a Jew.
As well may freedom of the mouth,
Men use to chew provisions with,
Be thought in danger, and jaw bone
Of all dread padlocks save their own.

But still this reasoning good or bad
Shews the position I have made,
That authors of this kind of thesis
Are at the fag-end of their species.

But whence is it that most of these,
Were of the western country geese?
Because 'tis reasonable that we
The legislative tall tree be.
Let Philadelphia be the head,
And Lancaster the shoulder blade;
And thence collecting in a clump,
A place called Stoney-Ridge the rump,
The tail will naturally stretch,
Across the Alleghany ridge,
While we submit to stubborn fate,
And be the backside of the state.

104

THOUGHTS ON INDIAN TREATIES.

SAY of these treaties what the use;
For who knows if thou know'st not, muse?
Can chief that comes to treat restrain,
The vulgar savage in his den?
About as much as can a fox,
Restrain his young ones from the ducks,
Or goose, or gosling that is fed,
In some man's stack-yard or a shed:
Nay, will the chief himself hold fast,
The chain of treaty which is past,
When covering's wanted for his bum,
And wishes to have some more rum?
No faith; for scarce the treaty made,
And the word brother out of's head,
Before he thinks of war again,
By which gets blankets without pain,
At treaty that succeeds to this.
Nay, even thinks it not amiss,
Just on his way towards his country,
To take a scalp upon the frontier;
As lovers that are debonnair,
At parting take a lock of hair
For memorandum of the love
They have to mistress in the grove.

105

As well the cow that licks the salt,
May be amended of her fault
In coming to the house of swain,
And licking once not lick again.
And yet these treaties that occur,
With savage and commissioner.
Do swallow more than would defray,
A veteran army on its way,
To drive them from the infested borders,
And put a period to their murders,
Exterminating race at once,
For their own happiness and man's.
But if a treaty must take place,
In God's name let the savages
On equal terms, and not at odds
Treat; but bring fur as we do goods,
And carry each a pedlar's pack,
Of peltry on his sachem's back,
To cure the loss of scalp we suffer,
In war they have made over and over.
For it is requisite that hide,
When lost should be by that supplied;
And that a racoon or an otter,
At least, should pay for son or daughter.
And not as now when they have cut,
At unawares a neighbour' throat,
Yet wash their own down with our rum,
And give them breech clouts when they come
To make them wish to have some more.
If I am not a son of a whore,

106

Were it with me to manage these,
Instead of ever making peace,
Would kill them every mother's son
Because the work is then well done
And there's an end of blood and burning,
And parents for their offspring mourning,
The devils gone where they should dwell,
In some very hottest place of hell.
Let any man suppose himself,
To be so miserable an elf,
As to be ty'd up to a pole,
And by a wood pile cheek by jowl
And roasted there like ven'son haunches.
While they continue warlike dances,
And say if then he talks of peace,
And making brotherhood with these?
Yet some that are philosophers,
Though but as ignorant as bears,
Will talk like girls that read romances.
The nonsense that affects their fancies.
About the goodness of a savage,
And how 'tis us excite to ravage.
No doubt, some truth may be in this,
But that with me not justifies,
The torturing a prisoner
Especially as the case is here,
Videlicit, wrongs may be done
In mutual larcencies carried on.
But more the savage is disposed,
Because he is not cloth'd or hous'd,

107

And lives in laziness like a dog,
Hence prompted most to come incog,
And take the property not his.
But eastern block-heads know not this
And talk of simple human nature,
And think a savage a good creature.
G---d d**n them if I had them here,
To strip their sides and buttocks bare,
And give them but a touch of the fire,
On which our people do expire,
Ah! then would hear no more of goodness,
But would consider it as rudeness,
At least to them who are great people,
To whom behoov'd to be more civil,
The warrior in his scarification,
Or gauntlet running flaggellation;
The truth is, treaties are in vain,
And only fear that can restrain,
Which must exist in power have felt,
And not the nonsense of a belt;
Or burying hatchet, or the like,
Enough to make a dog sick.
And for this reason wish that cocks,
That are at helm and General Knox
Would only stick to war; at least,
Until they're properly repress'd,
And if they will treat, why then treat
But give them neither strouds nor meat
But leave to live as they do us,
Nor dare again to be our foes.

108

On his excellency Anthony Wayne, commander in chief of the Federal Army, who died at Presq'isle, Dec. 14, 1796, on his return from his campaign against the Indians.

—The birth of some great men, or death,
Gives a celebrity to spots of earth;
We say that Montcalm fell on Abram's Plain;
That Butler presses the Miami bank;
And that the promontory of Sigeum
Has Achilles's tomb—
Presqu'isle saw Wayne expire.
The traveller shall see his monument:
At least his grave. For this,
Corroding jealousy will not detract;
But will allow a mound—
Some little swelling of the earth,
To mark the interment of his bones.

Brave honest soldier sleep—
And let the dews weep over thee,
And gales that sigh across the Lake;
Till men shall recognize thy worth,
And coming to the place, shall ask,
“Is this where Wayne is buried?”

177

Genethlicon of the United States Magazine.

[_]

THE Cave of Vanhest is too long to be extracted; but the Verses to which the General alludes in the Magazine are the following.

ChiLD of truth and fancy born,
Rising like the beam of morn;
From that shadowy silent place,
Where the ideal shades embrace.
Forms that yet in embryo lie;
Forms of inactivity.

Let me hail thee to the day,
With thy natal honours gay.
Thou art come to visit scenes
Of Italian bowers and greens.
Hear in wild wood notes with me,
What the world prepares for thee.

Statesmen of assembly great;
Soldiers that on danger wait;
Farmers that subdue the plain;
Merchants that attempt the main;
Tradesmen who their labours ply;
These shall court thy company;

178

These shall say, with placid mien,
Have you read the Magazine?

Maids of virgin-beauty fair;
Widows gay and debonnair;
Matrons of a graver age;
Wives whom houshold cares engage;
These shall hear of thee and learn,
To esteem thee more than Sterne;
These shall say when thou art seen,
Oh! enchanting Magazine.

Maids and men shall both agree,
To present their gifts to thee;
Lyric odes and rural lays;
Thoughts of fire and words of praise;
Noble strains and reasonings high,
Of divine philosophy.
These thy gifts the circle gay,
Bringing oft to thee shall say,
(Gazing on thy stars thirteen )
This is for the Magazine.

Gifts shall come to thee from far,
And from lands that nearer are;
From the navigable flow,
Of the Schuylkill stream below;
From each plain and shady grove,
Wash'd by the Delaware above;
From the Hudson river's side;
Or Potomaque spreading wide;

179

From more distant streams that run,
To the east, or setting sun.

Yes; the bard and sage unborn,
Shall thy beauteous breast adorn,
With the fairest choicest flowers
That the God of genius pours
From the warm enraptur'd mind,
Rich with sense, and fancy join'd.
Rais'd by these the noble name,
Shall ascend in future fame;
In perpetual verdure live,
And the rage of years survive.

Birth-day Ode.

See the Triumphal Arch—Frontispiece.

188

CINCINNATUS.

A POEM.

WHAT time the States had settled peace
With adversaries over seas,
And troops disbanded, it seem'd good,
To institute a brotherhood,
Among the chieftains of the war,
Of Cincinnati character,
Who now laid by their arms and came,
To seek an agricultural fame,
On territory they had sav'd.
For, as together they had brav'd,
The toils of service, wish'd a tie,
At least upon the memory,
Of that companionship; hence 'twas,
The institution came to pass,
Of a society and badge.

At first it did provoke the rage,
Of several of the citizens,
As not republican; and hence,
When one of these in rambling gate,
Came to a village of the state,
With badge dependant at his bosom.
It seem'd a singular rosy crorum,

189

And drew attention and surmise,
And every one that seem'd more wise,
Began discussion of th' affair.

A certain pedagogue was there,
Did first accost, and ask'd the rise,
And the intendment of device,
And how he got it, when and where;
Effigies of a bird of the air,
And other such interrogatories.

The Cincinnat who heard the queries,
Explain'd the history of the club,
And effigy upon the bob;
Videlicet, that having fought,
And put the adversar's to trot,
Retir'd from war like Cincinnatus,
And were about to plant potatoes;
But first in memory of their warfare,
And individuals did most care for,
Had set up club and wore a badge.

And what bird have you in the cage.
Quoth pedagogue? Is it a goose,
That you have chosen for your use?
Or a wild turkey or a swan?

This hurt the Cincinnati man—
Quoth he, I will not say you mean,
T' affront, and throw out with design,
This sarcasm on the badge we wear;
But 'tis an eagle of the air,
And emblematical of power,
As having dominion of the lower,

190

Fowls of the stack-yard and the grove,
And hence become the bird of Jove,
And is device upon the badge,
Which you and other fools with rage,
Decry and vilify and abuse,
As being without sense or use;
Because your ignorance is such,
You cannot comprehend it much,
The meaning of the hieroglyphic,
Or motto that is scientific,
Devis'd by sholars that were good,
And authors of similitude.

Quoth pedagogue, I own I saw
It had a bird's tail and a claw;
But never did so far encroach,
To look distinctly on the broach
Whether a grey goose or a drake,
That seems to give himself a shake;
But what resemblance does it bear
To him of Roman character;
Who wore no brochet at his button;
Or a remarkable escutch'on;
But when had ended war and battle;
Return'd t' his harrow and draught cattle,
Without a goose-resembling bauble;
Or other bird or beast, could gabble,
A word of Latin or of Greek.

But what the phrase it seems to speak?
Relinquit omnia, servare
Rempublicam; But quere,

191

Had this same Roman much to leave?
Or, would he not have laugh'd in's sleeve,
T' have had these words applied to him?
And you that are of modern time,
Were in the same predicament,
Before you to the warfare went.
So that the point is not in this,
From whence the eulogy takes rise,
The having left an ox or two,
Or an old horse with which did plow;
But your returning to your place,
When armies had been sent to grass;
So that 'twere better you had made it,
Nunc victor ad aratrum redit:
O, some intelligible phrase,
That would bespeak the proper praise,
Which really did belong to such,
As not ambitious over much,
Return'd from victory and war,
To till their ground, and take the care,
Of stock upon their farms; but wore,
No other ensign than before,
With barbarous Latin such as this,
Assum'd for the diagnosis.

To him a certain clergyman,
Did take upon him to explain,
The meaning of the badge and use,
Drawn from the hist'ry of the Jews;
Said, he was an idolater,
That from the eastern climes came there

192

With native sparrow at his breast;
Or what else bird it was express'd;
Egyptian ibis or a stork,
That did among the sedges lurk,
In face of dictate that was given,
By decalogue the law of heaven,
Inhibiting the worshipping,
Of graven bird or beast or thing;
Or that he was a great magician,
And dangerous on this occasion;
For had a trinket of his own,
And abracadabra writ thereon,
With some infernal spell or force,
Above a common Christian's powers.

The Cincinnat enrag'd to hear
Attack upon his character,
Address'd him to the populace,
Which were assembled at the place.

Quoth he, though no great orator
Experience being more in war,
Yet sense of injury and wrong,
May give me exercise of tongue;
Enable me to tell my tale
In way, perhaps, acceptable;
Especially as candour hears,
As is evinc'd by your drop'd ears
For well aware that public lies,
Insinuation and surmise,
Have got the start of me, I feard,
I would not be with candour heard.

193

It seems the thing has gone abroad,
That I have image of false god,
Hung at my breast: the effigy
Of bird, or beast, or fish or fly;
Which idol grav'd in bit of gold,
Like the idolater of old,
I worship, and put up a prayer;
Tho' but a wild fowl of the air.
Theologists have given rise,
To this religious prejudice,
As natural to every mind,
To breed according to its kind;
But nothing more dissimilar,
Than that a soldier in the war,
Should worship God at all, or beast,
In effigy or shape express'd;
For seldom worship the true God,
Save when some danger comes the road;
Unless the swearing by the Lord,
Or zounds or zuks, or some such word,
May be accounted reverence,
Express'd to the Omnipotence;
And therefore much less probable
T'adore the visual beak or bill
Of this small eaglet that I wear
As to idolatry am clear;
For though know nothing more about,
Religions that are set on foot
Than a grey goose; yet catholic,
Let all men worship till they're sick;

194

Nor interfere with church or psalm,
But be plain soldier as I am.
You that compose my audience,
Are persons of superior sense,
And can with others set that right
Misrepresented by this wight,
And save my hard earn'd character,
And the good name I wish to bear.

There was a citizen just by,
Attentive to the apology.
Quoth he; it may not be the shape
Of bird or beast at which you gape,
For sake of reverence or prayer;
But to distinguish what you are;
The only champions of the cause;
It being not the truth; whereas
Are many others that have fought,
And taken the Hessian by the throat,
And may deserve more solid praise,
Than wearing that small thing of brass,
Unworthy even of you that chuse,
To have the ensign of the goose.
Is't not ridiculous that one,
Who in the service has been known,
As champion of a sober cause,
Which with it such advantage draws
To the republicks of this clime,
Should turn his thoughts to such a whim
As savours of a ruder age,
When every light-head wore a badge;

195

And is no trophy or a spoil
The warrior earn'd, upon the soil,
But arbitrary honour made,
By some one of the brazier trade;
And is no special proof of worth;
There are so many to hold forth.
Pretension to the same device?
For the peculiar honour lies,
In being distinguish'd in desert.
Are you the only that have mer't,
In revolution brought about
Or are there not amongst the croud.
Some others that have just pretence;
If not with sword, at least with brains,
To patriotism in the cause
If not with arms they have with jaws
In councils of the several states,
Or by their writings in Gazettes,
Rebuff'd the British power and fore
And militated with discourse;
And many who have spoke and wrote,
Have also on occasion fought.
And there are victims of the cause,
By operation of the laws;
In favour of the general good.
What think you of the multitude,
Reduc'd by fluctuating paper,
Estates vanishing like vapour,
And brought to beggary and loss?
For take the people in the gross;

196

And all have suffer'd more or less;
And so may claim by services,
At least a bit of lead or pewter,
As their deservings are minuter,
And institute a club or so,
For what they did against the foe.
In their particular grades and places,
So that the multitude increases,
To an infinity of badges;
The honorary rights and wages,
Of the whole bulk of citizens.

In this there might be share of sense.
But the Cincinnat replied,
As having more reason on his side.

Quoth he, it is a small affair,
If at the period of the war
We instituted this our club,
To recreate us after rub,
And wear a badge which some arraign
As visionary toy, and vain,
But is't not fancy that supplies,
One half of things which are our choice:
And all beyond the dress and food,
Is but imaginary good?
The cut, the colour of the garb
Distinguishing the Jew from Ar'b;
And all kinds of appendages,
Of different tribes and nations dress
Have their foundation in caprice;
Not from necessity take rise.

197

The savages that are untaught
Do wear their honours at the snout;
And nature sanctions the pursuit
By giving feathers to the brute.
The badge we wear is not a charm
Of Physical or moral harm;
But forcibly doth operate,
And in the human mind create—
A love of some and dignity,
By having this before the eve;
As, in the British isle, a Star
And Garter, is reward of war;
And the St. Louis cross in France:
In other places like advance.
It is a small thing if from toil,
In summers sun and winters soil,
Deficient in the stipend due,
We wear a thing distinct from you,
A trifling signet of our own,
Which scarcely costs us half a crown,
Is there a law against the usage,
Proscribing it as a surplusage;
So that a writ of capias corp',
Can have the virtue to disturb?
If there is neither rule of nature,
Or jurisprudence that can deter,
And hinder us, why not go on,
On the same principle begun?
For though not great the excellence,
Yet have there not been men of sense,

198

Among the Romans and the Greeks,
That wore such things about their necks?
A bull or button at the breast;
And yet the thing not made a jest,
By persons that have talk'd like you?

Quoth citizen, it may be true;
And also in the modern days,
There have been found out many ways,
To tickle fancies of the fools.
There scarcely is a king but gulls,
his courtiers with appendages,
(At least when he is moneyless)
Proud of a feather that is red,
Or blue, because they take't in head,
It does them honour with the prince;
But here behoves us to have sense,
And real merit of our own,
And not a mark to make it known,
Hung up like sign at tavern door,
Or barber's pole your nose before,
Evincing that there is within,
You could not otherwise divine.
Besides, why do you quote the Greeks,
Or Romans that had like dogs tricks?
There is a difference in the case;
For there, the people's suffrages,
Bestow'd the honour that was worn;
But here it would not serve your turn,
But you yourselves assum'd device.

Quoth Cincinnat, the error lies

199

In this; we took it up; but yet,
It may be said the gift of the state,
Because the honour was our right,
And by deserving we came by't.
Be that as't may the thing is safe,
And well befitting to the brave;
And innocent in name and nature;
Nor works a harm to single creature,
T' offend a layman or divine.

At this the clergyman hark'd in
Quoth he, have said, and say it again
The thing is heathenish and vain,
And wearer an idolater,
Of whom there is just cause to fear,
Is some false prophet come to light
As is laid down in sacred writ,
That fell deceivers would arise,
In the last days to blind our eyes,
And draw us from the truth we hold;
For as to that same bit of gold,
What use? unless symbolical,
Of something bad and magical,
With rhyme that is engrav'd thereon?
If the mythology was known,
It might be found it was that gog,—
And magog that has lain incog,
So long in the apocalypse;
And now emerging from eclipse,
Has risen in such shape to men.

The Cincinnat to him again:

200

Quoth he, it ill becomes a priest,
To travel from his sphere, and jest,
About this trinket that I wear;
Against it roaring like a bear,
Who should be reasoning with the Jew,
Wherever you can find a clue;
Or with the infidel, about,
The devil's horn and cloven foot.
Is this the knowledge that you gather,
From every old and long dead father,
As Chrystostom or Polycarp,
Who on a different string did harp;
Not medling with our institutions,
Instead of prayers and absolutions,
And teaching from the catechism,
The origin of faith and schism:
Which is unnatural and absurd,
Deserves to be chastis'd and cur'd?
For have you not an ample scope;
Or as we say, enough of rope,
To vent your rage and crudities,
Against the errors that arise,
Of fools that are propense to evil,
And lay the fault upon the devil,
As if he were a Jack o' lantern,
In every whole and corner saunt'ring,
Who never yet was out of hell,
Or knew a single syllable,
About the matter laid t' his charge,
In pulpit oratory at large?

201

I'st not enough to split your text:
(Till every hearer's heart is vex'd)
In forks and branches multiple,
And firstlys, and so-forths at will,
With heads and horns of Daniel's ram,
That in the prophet's vision came;
Or bring a sermon out of what
Has scarce the semblance of a thought,
By the reversion of the phrase;
Or cloathing pristine nakedness,
With commentaries of the brain,
Which no man else can find therein;
And have you not interminable,
Career to run as fast as able,
Through all the systems of the faith,
And variations that it hath,
Drawn from theology of schools,
Or self-born of the preachers skulls,
And built upon the abstract base;
Which was originally much less:
For so extensive is the flood,
Of knowledge that is bad or good,
A man may souse therein and toss,
Just as in ocean would a goose,
And find no shore or bottom out
Of doctrines that are set on foot?
Where then necessity to stretch,
Your legs upon us at a fetch,
As if you had not room at home
To canter on your hypodrome,

202

But must inveigh against what is
But a mere symbol and device,
And has no moral turpitude;
Or meaning that is bad or good
And cannot give offence to Moses,
Or hurt the decalogu's-proboscis,
Or you that are conservators,
Of all that in religion stirs

Theologist—The matter lies
Just here; the pagan deities,
False gods in Egypt or elsewhere
Did under some such shape appear;
And even we read amongst the Jews
They fell sometimes to this abuse;
But chiefly worship'd calves and stocks;
For which were given them rebukes.
But paganism worship'd fowls,
Eagles and pigeons and vile owls,
Which you would imitate by this
A sample of idolatries,
And whoredom people did commit,
And carnal sins in holy writ;
And hence were banish'd from the earth
Which gave the several nations birth,
Of Canaanites, and after them,
The Philistines that err'd the same,
The Romans, Greeks, and other pagans,
That had their Asbtaroths, and Dagons
And worship'd bulls, and goats and heifers;
And were your oracle believers;

203

Which brought the curse of God upon them:
And hence it is that there is no man,
Who sees affection that you have
For that which workmen did engrave,
But fears a judgment for the sin,
And wickedness that is therein;
Deserving every punishment,
That on the guilty can be sent.

The Cincinnat was very wroth,
At matter and the manner both,
Of this retort; nor could restrain
Repulsive motions of his brain,
And choler; but essay'd to draw
his hanger contrary to law
And civil authority; when one
Of cooler judgment looking on
Who was a great Philosoper,
Though yet had made but little stir,
Put by the blow, and thus bespoke;

Quoth he, your hot-born rage revoke,
Nor draw your sword upon the cloth,
Because you are a little wroth;
And without reason or just cause,
At what has been thrown out; whereas,
It is a general allegation,
And turns upon the whole profession
Of club, which has so broad a base
It easily bears it, in this case,
And is not personal alone,
To you on whom the thing is thrown;

204

And when a number are to bear
The ignominy of the affair,
It is as nothing to the whole.

Have you Don Quixotte in your skull,
And yet not recollect the speech,
He made t' a town within his reach.
Which had conceiv'd offence, because
his Sancho braying like an ass;
At which he was not any slouch;
Did seem to say they were just such?
He tells them that no word can strike
Or hurt a body politic,
Because the offence has no just base
Of individual in the case.
Are not the learn'd professions known
To be a string to harp upon?
We say that lawyers are all rogues,
And preacher, that he but humbugs;
And of physician, that he kills;
More than he cures, with his damn'd pills.
And yet we have not on our backs,
The whole of these like pedlars packs;
For the physician, lawyer, priest,
Laughs at the matter, as a jest.
Why, then enrag'd, at any one,
For obloquy, that he has thrown,
Just for a theme of his discourse,
To raise a laugh among the boors?
Do they who write your worst of satires,
And ironies and all such matters,

205

Possess a temper worse than others,
Drawn from the nature of their mothers;
Or just to shew their wit, at times,
They scratch out paragraphs and rhymes;
Attack the clergy, or the bar;
Or with Hypocrates make war;
Or chuse a country, or a town
To be the subject of lampoon;
Who laugh and read the ridicule;
And only but a natural fool,
Would take in head to fight or fence;
Or 'gainst the slander break his shins.
But where there may be some just base,
Of obloquy, in any case,
It more behooves to bear, as here,
Where though the matter may be clear,
You have a right to wear what badge,
You choose; yet, there are who alledge,
It is a trespass to break heads;
For though the man is pleas'd who reads,
The history of atchievment, yet,
Not him who feels the blow on's pate.
Unseasonable chivalry,
Does not with modern times agree;
Where law takes place of ancient prow'ss.
And puts a stop to the abuse,
Nor troubles knights to knock down cows;
Or giants that have broke a house;
So that it is unnecessary;
The cudgeling an adversary,

206

Especially a clergyman,
Who has his priviledge: again;
Inglorious to make war with such,
Not having honour very much,
Of victory, when it is obtain'd.—

There was a corporal by, hot-brain'd
Who had been in the war, and fought;
But no bald eagle, yet had got;
Or was a partner of the club,
Which military had set up;
And took it much amiss that those,
Who equally had fac'd the foes,
Unworthily, were left i'th' lurch,
To stand the back side of the porch,
And though, were also at the must'ring;
Yet had not at the breast, or postern,
A thing, significant of this—
For his part, he was wounded thrice,
While that same officer that spoke,
Had scarcely ever seen the smoke.
But since he was so hot to fight,
With Talmudist, no man of might,
Had better turn to him a soldier,
Would make his blood a little colder;
And ease him of intemperate passion;
Because the parson had some reason,
And others, to find fault, and blame,
The Cincinnat that left no fame,
To th' common soldier, and the serg'ant,
But of your own accord, take charge on't,

207

And wear this honour as your own,
Appropriate to yourselves alone.

Quoth Cincinnat; an officer,
Alone can have a right to wear,
The emblem of the victory;
Because there must be low and high;
And what is better born and bred,
'Tis reas'nable should be the head.
For what our nature makes the foot,
Doth, in the inferior station, trot.
As, in this very body of ours,
Wo do not go, upon all fours;
So, it is reas'nable, there should,
Be a distinction of the brood;
And those who have but little sense
And lower quality of brains,
Should occupy a sphere beneath.
Is not the officer the head?
When we gave orders you obey'd,
So that 'tis proper you possess
But the inferior grade and place;
And have no badge or institution.

The corporal felt his passion rushing.—
Quoth he, have just as good a right,
As you, though thus you did come by't
To take to ourselves and wear a badge.

The Cincinnat in greater rage.
Quoth he, forsooth, because you fought,
Where battle was a little hot,

208

You claim the privilege with us,
To be o' th' inside of the house,
To have insignia at your breast!
As well might an irrational beast,
The horse that draws artillery gun,
Or soldier had to ride upon,
Put in for heraldry, because,
Has sometimes been where danger was.
What would you think to see a ribbon
Or badge, hung at his tail, or hip-bone?
A burlesque on your appetite,
To have this matter made so light,
Which were a proper ridicule
When such a Teague O'Regan fool
As you, would claim the establishment.

The corporal's anger which was pent
Broke out.—It was not proof of sense,
Or other quality of brains,
Quoth he, that fabricated one,
An officer, and let alone,
The other, that was just as good;
But Congress, that was in the mood;
For, had a comrade, in my hut,
That often made a common butt,
Of those that were his officers,
Who had as little sense as bears—
And yet forsooth poor soldier Dick,
May wish for honour, till he's sick,
And get no knob, or bit of ribbon,
Hung at his bosom, or his hip-bone,

209

As many of the cod-heads have,
Who did not shew themselves so brave,
In any battle that was fought.

At this, the Cincinnat, red hot,
Drew out his hanger, to shed blood,
And hew down corporal, as he stood,
Who forming front advanc'd his centre,
As if he would the onset endure;
Hence thought it best, t' accost him first,
Before the matter came to th' worst.
As Homer, when he wages battle,
Between two of heroic cattle,
He has a parley, and a speech,
To know each other, which is which,
And, of what origin, they were;
And, how the devil, they came there:
Because, who knows, but they were cousins?
So should not cut each others weazons;
But, turn to other combatants:
And even in the time of giants,
And champions, throughout Christendom,
Before they, hand to hand, did come,
And actual clashing of the swords,
'Twas not unusual to have words;
Though what was proper to be said,
Have not at present in my head:
But do, remember, very well,—
What from our Cincinnatus fell.

Quoth he, if, so preposterous,
T' have also what they call a goose,

210

Is your ambition, why not take,
God's name! and hang it at your neck;
Or at your breech, or back, or bosom;
Or like a turkey-cock, at nose o' 'im?
Some wooden peg, or pewter noggin,
To wear it as you are a joging;
Or copper ball, or piece of metal
Inferior, for the common cattle;
With something on it like a bird
Or sign of poultry; whence infer'd,
That you have rob'd hen-roosts, you rogue
Or stole a duck or drake incog;
When rations were a little scarce,

This seem'd to make the thing a farce;
And a militia man just by,
Who listen'd t' him attentively,
Was angry, and began to frown,
To see the soldier so run down.

Quoth he, though but a common rat,
I am, and you a Cincinnat.
Great captain, that have spoke so loud,
In your haranguing to the croud;
And, though I know the soldier would
Much rather have a fowl for food,
And eat the wing or rib of goose,
Than smell its picture at his nose;
I take a part in his defence,
Because he speaks the better sense;
The undervaluing, you throw out
hits me, and others in the croud,

211

Who being but militia persons,
Who in the war have made exertions
Yet have no right to wear the badge,
As indirectly you alledge,
By title and the club assum'd.—

By this time common fame had drum'd
The like ideas every where,
Amongst the people that were there,
With such exaggeration, as,
Is natural in the like case;
Videlicet, that the prognatus
Who then was there of Cincinnatus
Had ridicul'd the common people;
As not of the state church or steeple;
Calling them all scrubs and bodkins,
And haberdashers, and such odd things:
How that they ran away at York,
And left the regulars at the work:
And fled at Germantown and broke,
From those left busy in the smoke:
At other places turn'd about.
And scarcely ever shew'd their snout,
Where there was danger, or hot fire.

One of the colonels that was nigher,
Became the spokesman of the rest;
And rage now boiling in his breast;
Quoth he, no doubt, we are but goats
And scarce above the beast that trots,
Compar'd with you, in what was done,
And services, you son of a gun;

212

Tag-rag and bob-tail, doubtless, are
Compar'd with vet'ran officer:
Because we have not at our bosom
That thing of yours, a rosy crozum;
Are not embellish'd with a broach,
At head, or neck, or breast, or crotch;
A Latin motto or an ensign,
Our toils, or services evincing;
Being but a vulgar sort of whigs,
That in the marches danc'd our jigs;
Nor help'd at Trenton to take Hessians;
Or fought like you, on such occasions;
Or at the Cowpens, made good battle;
And so are but a common cattle,
And you alone sustain'd the cause,
While we like bears at home suck'd paws;
And cannot now advance a claim,
To hieroglyphic of your fame.

Quoth Cincinnat, the charge is false,
And of the nature of all tales,
Which contradicted, shew by proof,
Intrinsical, what they are of.
What? an American, by birth,
Degrade the military worth,
And lessen the deserv'd applause,
Of my compatriots, in the cause,
Of those who fought, in front, or flank,
In regular, or militia rank.
My sentiments are the reverse;
And never had in view t' asperse

213

The signal honour you have won,
In order to advance my own.

These words had reason, but his voice
Was wholly buried in the noise;
And as the humour was with bat,
And brick, t' attack the Cincinnat,
his words could not restrain the mob,
Or check the violence of hubbub.
For when a multitude convenes
To carry on some hot designs,
They must do something, or seem slack,
Of skill and courage, for the attack.
So rushing discompos'd, the throng,
Brought violence, and blows along:
Here one uprais'd a ponderous stone;
Another got a dead horse bone;
Elsewhere, was seen, a block of wood,
Portending to the knight no good;
And all around, the face of war
Appear'd, just gathering, in the air.
Now, shall we here describe a battle,
And if they encounter him at all,
Say, shall he wage an equal fight;
And wound whole ranks, and kill outright;
Like val'rous Hector, at the siege,
Of Troy, compose a perfect bridge,
Of bodies, upon which to tread,
And swell the rivers with the dead;
Or mow a whole battalion down,
Like Ajax, son of Telamon;

214

Construct a rampart of the slain;
And strew with carcases the plain?
Or shall I bid him jump among,
The individuals of the throng;
Like Alexander when half crazy
He leapt among the Oxydracæ?
Or represent him as expert,
The various wiles of war t' exert;
Now giving way, and now advance,
To spit a parcel on his lance?
Shall I describe a various fray,
And change the fortune of the day;
Now on the verge of a defeat;
And now, in turn, advantage get;
One while broke down, like very stubble;
Now rise, and give the foe more trouble?
What wounds shall specify; what heart,
Oppress with javelin or dart?
What names relate, and characters
Of those who rag'd this day like bears?

I wave the arduous task of this;
Because narration would be lies;
For, just the naked truth express'd,
In history, is always best.
Hence shall relate what came to pass;
And how the issue really was;
Videlicet—but here again,
I feel the rushing epic vein,
To bring Minerva, from the clouds,
Down sliding through aerial shrouds;

215

To make her vet'ran champion wise,
And teach him that no honor lies
In waging battle, where the chance,
Of war, between the combatants,
Is so unequal, as this was;
For, had no head piece, made of brass,
Or iron, adamant, or wood;
And let him do the best he could;
Yet still, the number, and the weight,
Of blows, that must assail the pate,
Would overpower his best defence,
And wound him, or knock out his brains.
'Twas no Minerva, or a God,
From dome celestial, or abode,
But, his own reason, play'd the part,
And put discretion in his heart.
For, seeing that the wild misrule,
Of mob, as raging to the full,
As pedlars at an Ulster fair,
With their shilelahs, swung in air,
Left him no hope of victory,
He thought the best way was to fly;
And without waiting for the blows,
He turn'd the corner of a house;
Escaping from the rioters:
As when a morning shadow stirs,
And hides itself behind a wood,
Before the sun that would suck blood,
Pursuing, with his rising heat,
The thing that is not adequate,

216

To give him battle, and withstand
The numerous beams he has at hand:
To overpower it on the plains,
And maul it, and knock out its brains.

Retir'd, and to a tavern got,
Where such disturbance there was not;
Fatigu'd with what had sung and said;
Now on a sofa laid his head;
Because he did not wish to trudge.
God Morpheus who does not begrudge
A dream, sent one to keep him quiet.

He saw a plain, and there espied,
The champions of the former period,
And airy coursers, on which they rode:
The cavalcade of ancient knight-hood?
A show would do the very sight good;
Such, as the monsters, had knock'd down;
And dwarfs, and giants, overthrown;
And fiery dragons of the air;
And pale-fac'd virgins that were there;
Whom they had rescued from the grasp,
Of ravishers that did enclasp
Their snowy bodies, in their arms;
And drank the lustre of their charms;
Or knights themselves, who had been freed,
From oaken durance, where were tree'd;
Or bound in rocks, where by a spell,
They had remained invisible,

The Cincinnat approach'd the throng,
Who beckon'd him to come along;

217

As recognizing his advance,
To be that of no common man's;
But one who came to join the squad,
By that same baublet that he had;
With ensign of the eagle's beak,
And motto in th' original Greek
Or Latin, knew not which it was:
For things had come to such a pass,
When these knights flourish'd, devil a one,
Had such a thing as learning known;
But all depended on their slashing,
For fame, and for diurnal ration;
And cut and carv'd their sustenance,
By force of vig'rous arm and lance.

The Cincinnat address'd as ought,
With chosen words and select thought.

Quoth he, my seniors, in the art,
Of chivalry's great master part;
You see me, of a junior breed;
A germ, sprung from the self same seed,
Of predecessors in romance,
And orders that did flourish once;
Profession now degenerate,
Reduc'd to the very lowest state;
For even the Cincinnati club
Which imitative is set up,
Is much traduc'd, and badge they wear
Is greatly undervalu'd here;
For instance that same pedagogue,
And clergyman that is in vogue,

218

And other cavillers, just now
I met with in a town came through;
Do lead astray the populace,
Who have no judgment in the case.

A senior from the squad step'd forth,
Of a superior mein, and worth:
Quoth he, the more the degradation,
Of chivalry, the more occasion,
For an exertion of the brain,
To kindle up the thing again;
And doubtless this same club of yours,
Has, as't were added boots and spurs,
To bring it to a trot once more
And restorate the days of yore.
And, if discouragements arise,
In this the greater honor lies,
To overcome and persevere
'Tis true, no dragons of the air,
Or fiery vultures do occur,
To encounter with, and make a stir;
Or damsels ravish'd in a wood;
Or giants to let out his blood:
Or an inchanter with his spell;
But yet there is the devil in hell
To pay with other villainies,
That in your modern days take rise
Such as false notions of the right,
Which it behooves a valourous knight
T' arraign with free born thought and speech
And tell the people which is which;

219

And no less courage is requir'd,
To speak the truth with which are fir'd;
Than to knock down a cow at grass,
Or monster that did come to pass.

Adventure, quoth the Cincinnat,
Not much less perilous than that
La Mancha's knight attempted when,
Somewhat unstable in his brain,
He took a wind-mill for a giant;
For like catastrophe is nigh hand
To him that combats with opinion
That is once fixed and has dominion;
Whether the monster of the hour,
Be anarchy or other power
In shape of mob, or demagogue
Which is another name for rogue;
As just now with a rabble rout
I did experience in the crowd,
In an adventure that was hot,
And where no credit could be got;
So that I deem it preferable
To joust with you than with the rabble
Of mankind in their prejudices,
Which no man ever did who wise is;
And so escaping I am here
To enter lists, and break a spear.

Meantime a message had been sent
By Charlemagne to call from tent,

220

By trumpeter, the several orders,
That lay upon th' enchanted borders.
Our hero look'd to see where was,
Old Cincinnatus in the case.
In vain, for, in Elysium hous'd,
his mettle had not yet been rous'd;
But mixed, with the ignoble shades,
Did wander, idly in the glades;
And as in life, had been a plowman,
And wore no badge, or dress uncommon;
So now he troubles not his head,
With these; but walks among the dead,
The Romans, or obscurer Greeks;
That wore no pendle at their necks.
So much for vision of the dream,
That came into the head of him.

But now the Cincinnat below,
Awaking as some one came through,
Saw nothing but the standing chairs,
And landlord coming down the stairs.

236

TO WHISKEY.

GREAT Pow'r, that warms the heart and live
And puts the bluid a' in a fever,
If dull and heartless I am ever,
A blast o' thee
Makes me as blyth, and brisk, and clever
As ony bee.

I wat ye are a cunning chiel,
O' a' your tricks I ken fu' weel,
For aft ye hae gien me a heel,
And thrown me down,
When I shook hands wi' heart so leel,
Ye wily loun.

When fou o' thee on Scottish grun',
At fairs I've aft' had muckle fun,
An' on my head wi' a guid rung,
Gat mony a crack;
An' mony a braw chiel in my turn,
Laid on his back.

An' here, tho' stick be laid aside,
An' swankies fight in their bare hide;
Let me o' thee ance get a swig,
I'll tak my part,
An' bite and—, gouge and tread
Wi' a' my heart.

237

Great strength'ning pow'r, without thy aid
How cou'd log-heaps be ever made?
To tell the truth, I'm sair afraid,
('Twixt ye and me)
We'd want a place to lay our head,
Had'nt been for thee.

But when the chiels are fou' o' thee,
Och? how they gar their axes flee,
Then God hae mercy on the tree,
For they hae nane,
Ye'd think (the timber gaes so free)
It rase its lane.—

Without thee how cou'd grass be mawn?
Grain shear'd, and into barn-yards drawn?
An' when auld wives wi' faces thrawn
Ly in the strae,
I doubt, gin ye ware nae at han',
There'd be great wae.

But it wou'd tak a leaf and mair
To tell o' a' your virtues rare;
At wedding, gossipping and fair,
Baith great and sma'
Look unco dowff if ye'r na there,
Great soul o' a'.

Then foul befa' the ungratefu' deil
That wou'd begrudge to pay right weel,
For a' the blessings that ye yiel
In sic a store;
I'd nae turn round upo' my heel
For saxpence more.

238

WHISKEY,

IN ANSWER.

YOUR rouse rins glib thro' a' my veins;
I find it at my finger en's:
An' but a gouk that has nae brains,
Wa'd it deny,
That mony a time, baith wit and sense
I can supply,

Far better than the drink ca'd wine;
Wi' me compar'd 'tis wash for swine:
Ae gill is just as guid as nine;
And fills as fou':
It is nae very long sinsyne,
Ye prov'd it true.

That time ye made sae muckle noise,
About the tax they ca' excise;
And got the name o' Whiskey-boys,
Frae laland glakes;
That cam' sae far, nae verra wise,
To gie ye pikes.

Tho' I may say't among our-sels,
Ye gaed o'er far wi' your pe'mells,
On N--- and the guager W---,
And ither louns,
Far better ye had drank your gills,
And eat your scons.

239

It was a kittle thing to take
The government sae by the neck,
To thrapple every thing and break
Down rule and laws;
And make the public ship a wreck,
Without guid cause.

'Twere safer ye had tulzied here,
Wi' chiels that dinna muckle care
To gouge a wee bit, or pu' hair,
And no complain;
But a' the tugs and rugings bear,
Or let alane.

The warst is, but to get a lesson,
If som' ane puts ye i' the session,
To take a prie o' spiritual sneesin
Frae J--- M--- M---n,
Wha'l say o'er ye a back-ward blessing,
When ye're nae willing.

But wha'ist o' ye mak's the verse,
Sae very kittle and sae terse,
That in the Gazzat gies me praise?
They say 'tis Bruce;
I canna half sae weel rehearse:
Tall' my excuse.

I'm mair among unlettered jocks
Than well-lear'd doctors wi' their buiks;
Academies and college nuiks
I dinna ken;
And seldom wi' but kintra folks,
Hae I been benn.

Ye canna then expect a phrase,
Like them ye get in poets lays;
For where's the man that now-a-days,
Can sing like Burns;

240

Whom nature taught her ain strathspeys,
And now she mourns.

I dinna like to sign my name,
By that o' Whiskey, fie for shame!
I had a better ane at hame;
In town or city,
Where a' ware glad to get a dram
O' ------ Aqua Vitæ.

Praise.

ANSWER TO AQUA VITÆ.

FAIR fa'ye, canty Aqua Vitæ,
Indeed ye've gi'en's a dainty ditty,
Just like yoursel, sae blythe and witty,
It does me guid;
I need nae fash to try to beat ye,
I'd nae succeed.

But I maun tell ye, my auld chiel,
I'm nane o' thae wha play'd the deil,
And lowpt and jumpt out o' a' reel,
And brak the law;
And gar't the public ship to heel,
Wi' their fraca'.

I am nae ty'd to Kirk or Session,
Nor do I aften tak a blessing,
Or listen to a sp'ritual lesson
Frae --- ---;
To credit a' his kittle guessing,
I'm nae quite willing.

241

I'm nane o' thae wha say lang graces,
And thraw their looks into grimaces,
Thinking wi' sad and frightfu' faces
To scare the Deil;
I like o'er well to kiss the lasses;
And lilt a reel.

Whene'er wi' ye I tak' a bout,
I dinna sit and drink and jout
In some bye place or chimney nuik,
As I've seen some;
Wha think their names down in life's buik,
As sure's a gun.

I bauldly ca' for t'ither glass,
And sit as long's I hae ony cash;
And shou'd some rude ill-manner'd hash
Begin a brattle,
I am nea laith his banes to thrash,
And stap his thrapple.

As there be some wha tell foul clashes,
And say my kintry folks are fashious,
And tak sair threat'ning and lashes
To keep in order;
Like Scottish louns wha ware s' audaci'ous
Upo' the border:

I often wish when in my mirth,
My guitcher ne'er had crost the Frith,
That rows its flood between the earth,
O' the twa islands;
Ware that the case, I'd had my birth,
I' the Scots Highlands.—

Ye ken fu' well that Scottish chiels
Are nane o' thae' wanrestfu' deils,
Wha' wish to keep the warld on wheels

242

Aye turnan round;
And maun be aft laid by the heels
To keep 'em down.

They sit like honest sonsy fouks,
And dously turn their caps and stoups,
And dinna aften budge th'er dowps
To make a brulzie;
But ance they fairly tak the tows,
Faith! they can tulzie.

Ye spake o' Burns, Nature's ain bairn,
Wha rous'd ye aft in merry vein—
Saftly, indeed, flow'd his sweet strain,
And stopt o'er soon;
We'll never see his maik again—
My tears hap down.

But I've a hantle mair to say,
Which I may tell anither day;
Now, I maun rin and shak the strae,
Whare I've been thressing:—
Farewell! winsome Aqua Vitæ!
I gie ye my blessing.

The political state of Society.

ANSWER TO BRUCE.

THERE was a Clerk, i' the neist door,
Cam' to our town; had lear gilore;
And tauk'd about ane Pythagore,
Wha had a thought,
His saul wad tak, when life was o'er,
An ither bught;

243

And lowp into the bodie o' ane,
Now in the shape o' a wee wean;
And after shaw the self-same vein,
O' wit and sense,
He had, before death wi' a stane
Dang out his brains.

I leught and ca'd him a daft chiel,
And thought his head in a peat creel;
But now I b'lieve him verra weel,
And gie him faith;
Ye'r Allan Ramsey or the Deil.
Upo' my aith.

His saul has soomit o'er the burn,
To tak in you an ither turn,
And be a while in life's sojourn
Sic as he was,
Near Frith of Forth where he was born,
And liv'd his days.

I ken ye Allan verra weel,
Though you may hardly ken your-sel'.
But ah! your sang is nae sae shill,
Nor pipe sae soft;
The voice ye had, as clear's a bell,
'S a weething dowff'd.

But's nae your fau't, my canty Callan,
That ye fa' short o' the Auld Allan;
There's neither Highland man, nor Lallan',
That's here the same;
But finds him scrimpit o' the talen'
He had at hame.

What's mair expect'd here i' the west,
Sae near where night taks off his vest
And his grey breeks, and gaes to rest,
And the lang day
Is dock'd o' several hours at best,
Sic as on Tay.

244

I find mysel' degenerate,
And nae sic Aqua as ye gat;
In Clachan horns wi' comrades met,
To tak a gill;
And though come stacherin hame fu' late;
Yet did nae ill.

The lads got gumption by their drink;
And Carls could better speak and think;
Tak aff a bonnet wi' a clink,
And say a grace;
And lug out scripture verra distinc',
Frae ony place.

But here the drappie that ye need,
Maun ay some wicked brulzie breed;
Gie ane anither's claes a screed,
An' aften seen,
To gash wi' teeth, or tak in head,
To stap the cen.

Unless it be as folks o' lear,
Say a' things gradually impair,
And human nature wears thread-bare,
And turns;—Gude help's;
Ae year auld, and twa year war',
Like the tod's whelps.

Be this as 't may, it does me guid,
To meet wi' ane o' my ane bluid,
I was sae glad a' maist ran wud
To be thegither;
But I maun now, gae chew my cud,
And had my blether.

245

BRUCE TO AQUA VITÆ.

A'BEIT we baith ha'e said eneugh,
Yet I maun own, upo' my treuth,
I am sae lifted wi' the seugh
O' yer sweet chant,
That I maun even stop the pleugh
To gie ye a rant.

Ware na I sure ye'r nae the same,
I wad hae trow'd ye came frae hame,
Frae Londonderry or Colrain,
An' that ye'd lickit,
I' yer young days, the Blarney Stone,
Ye are sae sleekit.

Lear'd chiels indeed gie muckle roose
To Pythagore, sae wise and douse,
Wha wadna kill a flea or louse,
As we are tauld,
For fear he might brack down the house
O' some poor saul.

But I hae doubts, my canty blade,
The Carle's doctrine winna haud,
In what ye paukily hae said
'Bout me and Allan:
Ah well-a-day! I'm sair afraid
I'm nae sic Callan.

His sangs will be the warlds' delyte
Till wit and sense gang out o' date;

246

There's naething I can say or write
Sic fame will win;
I'm nae mair than a blatherskyte,
Compar'd wi' him.

What yo hae said is right sagacious,
That ilk thing here sae mickle warse is,
An' nae mair like, than trees to rashes,
To things at hame:—
Foul fa' me, gin the verra lasses
Be here the same!

Whare's there a Forth, a Tweed, or Tay?
Thro' hills and greens that saftly stray,
Whare shepherds spen' the simmer's day
Sae peacefulie.—
Thir scenes gar'd Allan lilt his lay
Wi' sic a glee.

What's here to gie the mind a heese?
Deil het ava', but great lang trees,
Nae flow'ry haughs or bony braes
To please the een,
Nor bleating flocks upo' the leas
Are heard or seen.

At morn nae lav'rock tunes his whistle,
Nor i' the bush is heard the throstle,
There's naething but a skreek and rustle
Amang i' leaves.—
The musie's sweer her sangs to cuzle,
She dwines and grieves.

Yersel's nae mair like Usquebaue
Or Farentosh, than night's to day;
For a' ye mak me aye sae gay
And fu' o' cracks,
Set down by them ye'd look as blae
As ony swats.

Yet tho' ye'r nae sae clear and sweet,
I'se ay be glad wi' ye to meet,

247

An' winna stap my hause to weet,
An' sit fu' late;
An' e'en to try an' sing a bit
I'se nae be blate.

But I maun aff an' turn a fur'—
Ance corn is glent an' seeding's o'er,
An' Winter's thuds again I door,
Gin music wills,
Syne I can gie ye sangs a score
For twa-three gills.

TO --- BRUCE.

[_]

A NUMBER of years after the preceding, correspondence had taken place, and having in the mean time had no personal communication, or acquaintance, several things appeared from this bard, and on the score of politics, somewhat personal towards me. This drew from me the following, to which an answer was given, on the part of this gentleman, and a rejoinder from me; this was in the summer of the year 1801.

WHEN of an age to run an errand
To town or farm-house that was near hand,
A bird's nest, or a beastie's bed,
Aft turn'd me frae the gate I gaed;
Mare, when I saw the thing itsel,
And ran to catch it by the tail,

248

As ance a thing just leke a cat,
I saw, and what wa'd I be at,
But try to grip it, a wild pousie,
And bring it hame to catch a mousie.
Before I knew what I was doing,
Or mischief that the thing was brewing,
A vapour came that had a smell,
And made me noisome to mysel.

As fast as I could lift a heel,
Ran hame, and said the muckle deel,
Or some war thing alang the fence,
Had drain'd its bags at my expence,
And rais'd a funk, and made me wet—

They ca'd it something I forget,
That strones upon a man and dog,
That tries to take it by the lug,
And leaves a scent about the place:
That it behov'd to change my claes;
Sae stripp'd me o' my sark and trouse,
And hung them out to get the dews,
And bade me tak mare care again,
And keep frae things I did na ken.

Soon after this I gaed to Latin;
And read a buke, I kenna what in,
That talk'd o' things that whir in bushes,
Dryads, Hamadryads, Muses,
On tops o' hills wad sing leke Mavies,
And in the shady woods and cavies.
Thought I, it maun be this vile clearing,
And grubbing up the trees-and bleering
At burning brush, and making fences,
That scars these things out o' their senses,
And drives them frae our fields and patches;
For who sees any, now or catches,
A moor-land deity or Nymphy,
That roosts in trees, or wades in lymphy?
Or hears a musy in the thicket,
Just as you wad hear a cricket?

249

May be in places farther back,
The vestige may na be sae slack;
Where woods are green, and countra new,
The breed may yet remain, a few,
May sing to mak' our spirits glow,
Leke them on the pierean now,
Or near that place ca'd Helicon,
Where bonny tricklin' streams rin down.

It was when I had cross'd the hills;
Amang these western woods and rills,
Was sitting listening ae still e'en;
I min't as weel's I do yest reen;
It seem'd to me, I heard the seugh,
O' ane; I kent it weel eneugh:
It was nae inarticulate trill,
Or echo o' the whippoorwill,
But words cam' wi the melody;
I kent the verra air, d'ye see,
Frae the description I had got,
In Latin buke, or Grecian poet.
Ah, hah! thought I, this sang is fine,
It has an inkling of the nine;
It maun be what they ca a muse—
What was it but the voice o' Bruce.
O' a Lochabar origin
And Scottish air sae very fine,
Thought natural, expression saft:
I loupit leke a man ha'f daft;
To think at last, out owre these woods,
Amang the simmer trees and buds,
A bardie should spring up, a musie,
A genuine Parnassus pousie,
In nature real, and in mew,
Of Arcady a Kitlin' true.

My wishes led me to caress it;
To stroke the thing and amaist kiss it;
But what my wonder and surprisal,
Without an ill word or devisal,

250

To find the thing when a' was done,
In verse, and sang begin to strone,
Wi Hogo war than assa fetid,
Or bag o' animal four fitit;

I thought me o' what happen'd early,
When Skunkie pish'd upon me fairly
When I had ta'en it for a rabbit,
And did na think it would grow crabbit.

Sae frae the verra self same things,
Our gude and evil aften springs;
Our pleasure and our pain thegither.
The bony bard is turn'd dog mither,
And bites and brangles like a bitch,
Or an opossum, makes na which;
Or a racoon upon the creek,
Near where his cabin gies it's reek.
But still the consolation's taen;
Hard words, and language break nae bane.
While I can laugh and take a drink,
Ill be to them that evil think.
Here's to the bardie; fill the cogue;
Or send and get anither jug:
The best way is to laugh at fools;
It is the wisdom of the schools;
For mirth tak's out the sting o' hurt;
And mental wounds are this way cur'd.

251

ANSWER.

I'VE heard your sang about the Skunkie,
Wha play'd ye sic a filthy plunkie.
Now listen to me, while I tell
What in auld Scotland ance befell.

Near an auld bigging, in a bush,
There sat a solitary Thrush;
His breast wi' love o' sang was fill'd;
He to the waste his wild notes thrill'd;
For being seen he little car'd,
And wished still less for being heard;
To pass his lanesome hours away,
And please himsel', he turn'd his lay.

In the auld bigging dwelt a Starling,
Wha was o' ilka bird the darling;
For well he kent to suit his throat
To please ilk bird wi' its ain note;
Sometimes like Sparrow he'd be seen,
Chirping, and hoping on the green;
Frae this he'd aften tak a start,
And carrol wi' the tunefu' lark;
And this again he'd change as soon—
He never staid land on ae tune;
But, 'fore your finger you cou'd crook,
You'd tak him for a Crow or Rook.

This Starling heard the Thrush's sang,
Sowth'd saftly the lane woods amang—
Heard and was pleased, and in a crack;
He gave the Thrush his musick back;
Indeed the Starling sung sae well
He did amaist the Thrush excel

252

Between the Thrush and Starling now
An unco cronyship up grew;
Ay, frae the bush, when Thrush wad rant
Starling wad frae the bigging chaunt.

Thus, 'tween them twa the time pass'don,
In friendship and in peacefu' sang,
Till ance upo' a luckless day,
A flight of Corbies came that way,
A revenous, and ill boding flock,
Wi' hungry, discontented croak,
Much it surpris'd the wand'ring Thrush,
As he sat singing in his bush,
To hear the Starling change his strain,
And croak wi' these vile birds obscene.
It vex'd the Thrush—He shook his wings,
And in a louder tone he sings,
Wi' deeper warbling swell'd his throat,
Thinking the starling would take note;
But a' in vain—Th' unthinking bird
O' his new freak wad not be cur'd,
But ay croak'd on, and aff he flew,
Wi' the black, clamourous, stinking crew;
And 'stead o' halesome seed o' herbage,
He fed on carrion and on garbage.
Him to reclaim the Thrush gave owre,
But did his Starling's loss deplore.

REPLY.

TWA pipers ilk wi' bag and drone,
Forgether'd in a wee bit town,
Grew unco great: The ane was Angus;
The tither Duncan. Wha can bang us,

253

Quo' they at playing on the pipes?

Scarce had the word gaed out their lips
When up play'd Duncan Charlie's reel.

Angus he said he liked it weel,
And, in his turn he play'd the Boyne,
But Duncan said he wad na join
Sic revolution spring as that,
Mare than the Devil and black cat;
No play'd for laird or lady Mary,
Wha hated seugh o' Inverara;
And lik'd by nane but laland cotters;
Or what they ca' in glens, bog-trotters;
Wad stick to Charlie owr the water.

Quoth Angus it is na great matter,
To my conception or my pleasin,
Out o' what mul I take my sneeshin;
Whether it is I blaw my cheeks,
To gar them loup wha ha' na breeks,
Or lairds or ladies wi guid beltin;
As muckle pleasure aft is felt in,
The seeing lads and lasses wallop,
Wha ha' sma' claes to hide their gallop,
As in the ha's o' pride, and plaiden,
Whare men ha' geer, and maids ha' claden.
Here man is nearer man; the lardie
Is no sae far aboon the bardie;
And she that frisks it wi' her neighbour,
Will na be laith to kiss the piper.
But why should ranters ban and banter,
But as they like blaw up their chanter?
The thing is a' but sound and ranting;
What need we care but for our canting?

254

And no gie hard words, or break crowns,
Because we canna suit our drones.

The same wi' us now canty Bruce,
Twa pipers that had different views,
And baith had music in our brain;
Ye play'd up R***; I play'd M'Kean.
And sooth, maun a' be Do'phin fish
That cam' to soom about your dish,
And a' are turn'd to ‘Fooks and Ravens,’
And very worst birds o' the heavens,
That listen to ray pipe or spring.

Now toleration is a thing,
That's amiable in church and state;
And why should bardies derogate
Frae the same licence in their strains?
While men ha' different heads and brains,
The same things will na seem the same;
And he has the maist sense o' them,
Wha lets anither think and say,
And in his turn takes the same way.
I did na scirl, and clamour out;
And ca' ye a fa'se loon and lout;
Or say your pipe had lost its drone,
Because ye play'd up Ettison,
Though a' the sense that man can feel,
O' wrang frae that misguided chiel,
I had o' whilk ye nothing knew,
And ought t' ave had still less to do;
Unless like piper to a laird,
At hame in some great castle yard,
On droupit doup like dog at tether,
Ye blaw'd your cheeks up to a blether,

255

And play'd a spring just to his liking;
As bardies did to get a picking,
In auld times when the meal was scarce,
Frae failing ha'rst, or wasting wars.

Ah! no, my canty winsome Bruce,
Ye had na sic a guid excuse.
It was just thoughtlessness and folly,
Though it strake me wi melancholy,
To find my bardie take a part,
Against me wi his tunefu' art,
And though it touch'd me wi an ach
Yet, I forgave it for the sake,
O' our relation to the muse.
The mason word has na sic use,
O' brother-hood, as this same charm,
And whilk is got without the harm,
O' raising, or o' laying De'el.

But I maun bid you now fareweel:
I dinna ken I shall say mare:
'Am ganging frae this thoroughfare.
May ay the Muse, to you dispense,
The sowth o' sang, and pith o' sense,
And bony art to wale the words,
That make folk friends, and tighten cords.

Aristocracy.

Democracy.

The seat of the Duke of Argyle, a whig and revolutionist.

Dance rompingly. “Walloped it owr the green.”

Maggy Lauder.

Amphion with his lyre is said to have charmed a Dolphin.

President of the District.

The piper usually plays out of doors during the entertainment, but is seen and heard from the hall.

About to leave the western parts of Pennsylvania for Carlisle, my present residence.

269

To the Sons of St. Andrew on the celebration of a late festival.
[_]

Amongst the inhabitants of Pittsburgh were some of Scottish origin or descent, who on the anniversary of St. Andrew, (30th of November) were accustomed to celebrate his festival, on one of which occasions the following was written and appeared in a paper of the day following.

December 1, 1790.

IF gude St. Andrew's saul, a wee—
Bit, could be spar'd frae he'ven,
It wad delight his sprite tae see
How ye did spend the ev'en.

For weel I wat, the sangs aboon
The lift are scarce as gude,
And Scotts' sauls even in the moon,
Tae hear them wad rin wid.

Wad pit them in the mind o' braes,
And knows where they were born,
And springs they play'd, and bony haes,
They danc'd among the corn.

Ah: had I but the soul o' song,
My kintra kens in weel,
The pleasant melody ere lang,
Wad sound o'er vale and hill.

270

My name be heard on Allegane,
And ilka neighbouring burn,
When I am laid beneath a stane
And marrows left tae mourn.

But aw my wish, and aw my vows,
Will no'e gae sick a strain,
As is, “The broom of Cowden Knows,”
Or, 'Tae the Greenwood gane.

For spirit o' sick sang is gane
Simplicity sae sweet,—
And artificial airs hae taen,
Its place, which gars me greet.

But blessings on the kindly bairns
That keep it up a wee.
By chaunting here amang the kernes,
A wee thing o't tae me.

For ay my heart e'en on these braes
Clings tae the pleasing thought,
Remembrance o' the sweet strath-speys
My native music taught,

As when the love sick saul o' ane
Has lost his dearest mate,
He hankers still about the stane
And winna gae his gate.

278

Ideas at the interment of Mrs. Bedford, the wife of Doctor Nathaniel Bedford of Pittsburgh, July 9th, 1790.

Whether the spirit, doth survive
The body; and doth live,
In the Elysium of the Greeks,
Or Heaven of which the Christian speaks
I know not; but, if there be,
Such immortality to thee or me,
Fair shade; this thing call'd death,
And the mere stoping of the breath,
Not being to oblivion brought,
Is a light matter in the scale of thought,
And not the proper subject of a tear.

Why then such shape of Melancholy here,
And chrystal distillation of the eye?
Is it because the form that there doth lie,
Was passing pleasing in her life,
And none so fair and virtuous doth survive?

Fair ladies, I will not say none;
Nor even with the dead induce comparison?
But this will say;
The soul that animated that same clay,

279

Was wise and Good,
With every excellence, endued,
That could the sex exalt:
Without a foible or a fault:

Uncensur'd and uncensurable;
Her exit answerable:
For pure as Innocence and love,
She felt the will of Jove,
With proper fortitude complied
And like an unstain'd lily drop'd her head and died.

The despondent mind will doubt at times; but where there is hope, there must be faith.

THE BATTLE OF BUNKERS HILL,

(CALLED ALSO THE BATTLE OF Breed's Hill* . )*

[_]

AT the time of the battle of Bunker Hill, (1775,) I was master of an Academy on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and wrote the following for an exercise to be performed by the Youth of the Seminary, and which was shortly after published.

Prologue, by Colonel John Park, of the American army.

THIS mighty Æra big with dread alarms,
Aloud calls each American to arms.
Let ev'ry Breast with martial ardor glow,
Nor dread to meet the proud usurping foe.
What tho' our bodies feel an earthly chain,
Still the free soul, unblemish'd and serene

280

Enjoys a mental Liberty,—a charm,
Beyond the power of fate itself to harm.
Should vict'ry crown us in the doubtful strife—
Eternal honours mark the hero's life.
Should Wounds and slaughter be our hapless doom—
Unfading laurels deck the Martyr's Tomb:
A sure reward awaits his soul on high,
On earth his memory shall never die.
For when we read the fatal story o'er,
One tear shall drop for him who is—no more.
Who nobly struggled to support our laws.
And bravely fell in freedom's sacred cause

Let virtue fire us to the martial deed;
We fight to conquer and we dare to bleed:
Witness ye fathers! whose protracted time,
Fruitful of story, chronicles the clime.
These howling deserts, hospitably tame,
Erst snatch'd you martyrs, from the hungry flame;
'Twas Heav'n's own cause, beneath whose shelt'ring power,
Ye grew the wonder of this present hour—
The task—be ours with unremitted toil,
To guard the rights of this dear-purchas'd soil,
From Royal plund'rers, greedy of our spoil,
Who come resolv'd to murder and enslave,
To shackle Freemen and to rob the brave.
The loud mouth'd cannon threaten from afar,
Be this our comfort in the storm of war—
Who fights, to take our liberty away,
Dead-hearted fights, and falls an easy prey.
Then, on my brethren to the embattl'd plain,
Who shrinks with fear, anticipates a chain.

281

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Warren, American Officer.
Putnam, American Officer.
Gardiner. American Officer.
Gage, British Officer.
Howe, British Officer.
Burgoyne, British Officer.
Clinton, British Officer.
Lord Pigot, British Officer.
Sherwin . Aid-de-Camp to General Howe.
Soldiers, &c.

282

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Camp at Cambridge.
Enter Warren, Putnam, and Gardiner.
Warren.
Why this inglorious inactivity,
And leave the famish'd city to the foe;
Nor turn our vengeance on relentless Gage?
Perfidious man! Who pledg'd his oath so late,
And word of honour to those patriots
Yet in his power, that yielding him their arms,
They should receive permission to depart,
And join once more their valiant countrymen;
But now detains as hostages these men,
In low damp dungeons, and in gaols chain'd down,
While grief and famine on their vitals prey.
Say noble Putnam, shall we hear of this.
And let our idle swords rust in the sheath,
While slaves of Royal Power impeach our worth
As vain, and call our patience cowardice?

Putnam.
Not less bold Warren have I felt the pangs
Of woe severe in this calamity:
And could I with my life redeem the times,
The richest blood that circles round my heart,
Should hastily be shed. But what avails
The genuine flame and vigour of the soul,

283

When nature's self, and all the strength of art,
Opposes every effort in our power?
These sons of slavery dare not advance,
And meet in equal fight our hostile arms.
For yet they well remember Lexington,
And what they suffer'd on that rueful day,
When wantoning in savage rage, they march'd
Onward to Concord, in a firm array,
Mock music playing, and the ample flag
Of tyranny display'd; but with dire loss
And infamy driven back, they gain'd the town,
And under cover of their ships of war,
Retir'd, confounded and dismay'd. No more
In mirthful mood to combat us, or mix
Their jocund music with the sounds of war.
To tempt no more unequal fight with men,
Who to oppose an arbitrary sway,
Have grasp'd the sword; and resolute to brave
Death in his dreary shapes, can know,
In the warm breast, no sentiment of fear.

Gardiner.
The free born spirit of immortal fire
Is stranger to ignoble deeds, and shuns
The name of cowardice. But well thy mind,
Sage, and matur'd by long experience, weighs
The perilous attempt, to storm the town,
And rescue thence, the suff'ring citizens.
For but one pass to that peninsula,
On which the city stands, on all sides barr'd.
And here what numbers can supply the rage,
Of the all devouring, deep mouth'd cannon, plac'd,
On many a strong redoubt; While on arch side,
The ships of war, moor'd, in the winding bay,
Can weep ten thousand from the level beach,
“And render all access impregnable.”

Warren.
True valiant Gard'ner, the attempt is vain,
To force that entrance to the sea-girt town;

284

Which while we hop'd for peace, and in that view,
Kept back our swords, we saw them fortify.
But what if happily, with a chosen few,
Led through the midnight shades, yon heights were gain'd,
And that contiguous hill, whose grassy foot,
By Mystick's gentle tide is wash'd. Here rais'd,
Strong batt'ries jutting o'er the level sea,
With everlasting thunder, shall annoy
Their navy far beneath; and in some lucky hour,
When dubious darkness on the land is spread,
A chosen band may pierce their sep'rate fleet,
And in swift boats, across the narrow tide,
Pour like a flame, on their unguarded ranks,
And wither them: As when an Angel smote,
The Assyrian camp. The proud Sennacherib;
With impious rage, against the hill of God,
Blasphem'd. Low humbl'd, when the dawning light,
Saw all his host dead men: So yet I trust,
The God of battles, will avouch our cause,
And those proud champions of despotic power,
Who turn our fasting to their mirth, and mock
Our prayers, naming us the Saints, shall yet,
Repay with blood, the scorn they cast upon us.

Putnam.
Heaven favour this attempt. Now from our troops,
Seven hundred gallant men, and skill'd in arms,
With speed select, choice spirits of the war.
By you, led on, brave Gard'ner, to the heights,
E're yet the morn, with dawning light breaks forth,
Intrench on Bunkers Hill; and when the day,
First, o'er the hill top rises, we shall join
United arms, against the assailing foe,
Should they attempt to cross the narrow tide,
In deep battalion to regain the hill.

Gardiner.
The thought is perilous, and many men,
To this bold enterprize, must strew the ground.

285

But since we combat in the cause of God,
I draw my sword, nor shall the sheath again,
Receive the shining blade, till on the heights,
It drinks the blood of many a warrior slain.

The inhabitants fit to bear arms having left the city, and the communication being cut off with the country, the women and children were in want of provisions, and in a starving condition.

This refers to a fact well known in the history of the time.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The environs of Boston.
Enter Scotch Officers in conversation.
Captain M'Intyre.

I dinna know that I should like to marry ane o' these American ladies; they would breed savages and spoil and bluide o' the M'Intyres.

Captain M'Alpin.

I wad nae stop to marry twa or three o' them when their husbands are kill'd, as they will a' be shortly.

Captain Bunnalin.

It is a strange thing that we should come here to quell a rebellion, when we used to hae enough o' them at hame in our sin kintra.

Captain Jameson.

I dinna like a rebel; they should be a' hang'd, or put in the Talbooths.

Lieutenant Paterson.

Dinna walk sae far that way, Captain. Some o' their rifle men may take sight at ye, and shoot ye through the lug, frae the back o' ane o' these dikes. We had a gude many kill'd that way the day o' Lexinton.

Captain Pinkerton.

Dinna ye see Colonel Ryburn farther off the town than we are, and these about him? He seems to be stepping off the ground as he wad measure land for a bigging.

Colonel Ryburn.

I will hae a house here like the Duke o' Argyle's at Inverra. That nuke o' land there will make a calf pasture. When these rebels are a' han'gd, I'll settle mysel down here and send hame for a gardner, and twa or three masons. I sal hae a kuke frae France; a waiting man frae Swisserland, and a musician frae Italy.

286

Captain Brolochan.

I wad nae gi a tune o' the bag pipe for a' their orchestra. I dinna like the Italian scrapes.

Colonel.

There, will be a gude place for a park like Lord Haddington's. I shall hae it weel stock'd wi deer, and a pond in the laigh ground to keep fish in.

Captain.

Ye need na make a pond; ye hae the sea just by to gi ye fish.

Colonel.

Aye; but the sea fish are no fresh fish. The gentry in Scotland a'hae a pond.

SCENE II.

Boston.
Enter Gage, Howe, and Burgoyne.
Burgoyne.
How long brave gen'rals, shall the rebel foe,
In vain arrangements, and mock siege, display,
Their haughty insolence?—Shall in this town,
So many thousands, of Britannia's troops,
With watch incessant, and with toil oppress'd,
Remain besieg'd? A vetr'an army pent,
In the inclosure, of so small a space,
By a disorder'd herd, untaught, unofficer'd.
Let not the mouth of a detracting fame,
With breath malignant, o'er the Atlantic wave,
Bear this to Europe's shores, or tell to France,
Or haughty Spain, of Lexington's retreat.
Who could have thought it, in the course of things
That British soldiers, in this latter age,
Beat back by peasants, and in flight disgrac'd,
Could tamely brook the base discomfiture;
Nor sallying out, with spirit reassum'd,
Redeem'd defeat and challenge victory?
Drive back the foe, to Alleghany hills,
In woody vallies or on mountain tops,
To mix with wolves and kindred savages.

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Gage.
This paradox will soon resolve itself.
Hear first, Burgoyne, the valour of these men.
Fir'd with the zeal, of fiercest liberty,
No fear of death, so terrible to all,
Can stop their rage. Grey-headed clergymen,
With holy bible, and continual prayer,
Bear up their fortitude—and talk of heav'n,
And tell them, that the soul, who dies in battle,
Shall walk, with spirits of the just. These words,
Add valour to their rage, and hurry them
Impetuous to war. Nor yet in arms
Unpractised. The day of Lexington,
A sad conviction gave our soldiery,
That these Americans, were not that herd,
And rabble rout, we represented them.

Howe.
Not strange to your maturer thought, Burgoyne,
This matter will appear. A people brave,
Who never yet, of luxury, or soft
Delights, effeminate, and false, have tasted.
But, through hate of chains, and slav'ry imagin'd,
Forsake their mountain tops, and rush to arms.
Oft have I heard their valour, published:
Their perseverance, and untameable
Fierce mind, when late they sought with us, and drove,
The French encroaching on their settlements,
Back to their frozen lakes. Or when with us
On Cape Breton, they stormed Louisburg.
With us in Canada, they took Quebec;
And at the Havannah, these New-England men,
Led on by Putman, acted gallantly.
I had a brother once, who in that war,
With fame commanded them, and when he fell,
Not unlamented; for these warriors,
So brave themselves, and sensible of merit,
Erected him a costly monument;
And much it grieves me that I draw my sword,

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For this late insurrection, and revolt,
To chastise them. Would to Almighty God,
The task unnatural, had been assign'd,
Else where. But since by Heaven, determined,
Let's on, and wipe the day of Lexington,
Thus soil'd, quite from our soldiers memories.
This reinforcement, which with us have sail'd,
In many a transport, from Britannia's shores,
Will give new vigour to the Royal Arms,
And crush rebellion, in its infancy.
Let's on,and from this siege, calamitous,
Assert our liberty; nay rather die,
Transfix'd in battle, by their bayonets,
Than thus remain, the scoff, and ridicule
Of gibing wits, and paultry gazetteers,
On this, their madding continent, who cry,
Where is the British valour: that renown
Which spoke in thunder, to the Gallic shores?
That spirit is evaporate, that fire;
Which erst distinguish'd them, that flame;
And gen'rous energy of soul, which fill'd,
Their Henry's, Edwards, thunder-bolts of war;
Their Hampdens, Marlboroughs, & immortal Wolf
On the Abraham heights, victorious.
Britannia's genius, is unfortunate,
And flags say they, when Royal tyranny
Directs her arms. This let us then disprove,
In combat speedily, and take from them,
The wantonness of this fell pride, and boasting,

Gage.
Tho' much I dread the issue of the attempt,
So full of hazard, and advent'rous spirit;
Yet since your judgment, and high skill in arms,
From full experience, prompts,
I give my voice, and when one day hath pass'd,
In whose swift hours, may be wrought, up,
The resolution, of the soldiery,
With soothing words, and ample promises,

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Of rich rewards, in lands and settlements,
From the confiscate property throughout,
These rebel colonies, at length subdu'd;
Then march we forth, beat up their drowsy camp.
And with the sun, to this safe capitol,
Return, rich, with the triumphs of the war.
And be our plan, that which brave Haldiman,
E're yet recall'd, advis'd to us. Let first,
Brave Howe, and Clinton, on that western point,
Land with the transports, and mean time Burgoyne,
With the artillery, pour sharp cannonade,
Along the neck, and sweep that beachy plain,
Which lies to Roxborough, where yon western stream,
Flowing from Cambridge, mixes with the Bay.
Thus, these Americans, shall learn to dread,
The force o discipline, and skill in arms.

SCENE III.

American Camp.
Militia man.

It was not the sum of the tax, but the principle that induced us to resist. The tax on tea was but an entering wedge. Grant this and all follows. It is the beginning of usurpation that must be resisted.

2nd Militia man.

The right to tax the Colonies in all cases whatsoever is the claim on the part of Great Britain.

1st Militia man.

The war is at least just, let the event be what it may.

2nd Militia man.

And I think it necessary, let the event be what it may.

1st Militia man.

Being both just and necessary, it must in the end be successful.

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SCENE IV.

Enter Gardiner, with Seven Hundred Men.
Gardiner.
This is the hill, brave countrymen, whose brow
We mean to fortify. A strong redoubt,
Be speedily thrown up. Let each himself,
Not underserving, of our choice approve,
For out of thousands, I have challeng'd you.
To this bold enterprize, as men of might,
And valour eminent, and such this day,
I trust, will honour you. Let each his spade,
And pick-axe, vig'rously, in this hard soil,
Where I have laid the line, exert
The orient star, bright Lucifer,
Peers on the firmament, and soon the day,
Flush'd with the golden sun, shall visit us.
Then gallant countrymen, should faithless Gage,
Pour forth his lean, and half starv'd myrmidons;
We'll make them taste our catridges, and know,
What rugged steel, our bayonets are made of;
Or if o'er charg'd, with numbers, bravely fall,
Like those three hundred at Thermopylæ,
And give our Country, credit in our deaths.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Burgoyne.
The rebel foe, grown yet, more insolent,
By that small loss, or rout, at Lexington,
Prevent our purpose and the night by-post,
Have push'd intrenchments, and some flimsy works,
With rude atchievement, on the rocky brow,
Of that tall hill. A ship-boy, with the day,
From the tall mast-head, of the Admiral,
Deserv'd their alm, and gave the swift alarm.
Our glasses mark, but the small regiment there,

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Yet, ev'ry hour we languish in delay,
Inspires fresh hope, and fills their pig'my souls,
With thoughts of holding it. You hear the sound
Of spades and pick-axes, upon the hill,
Like Vulcan's forge, urg'd by the Cyclops.

Enter Howe.
To your alarm posts, officers; come gallant men,
Let's out, and drive them from that eminence,
On which the foe, doth earth himself.
I relish not, such haughty neighbourhood,
Give orders, swiftly, to the Admiral,
That some stout ship heave up the narrow bay,
And pour indignant, from the full-tide wave,
Fierce cannonade, across the lathmus point,
To cut off reinforcements.

SCENE II.

The Roll Call.

Duncan M'Cleod,
Nell M'Murrochy,
Roderick M'Kinney,
Sanders M'Laughlin,
Gregory M'Gregor, &c. &c. &c.

Enter Adjutant.

Recover arms—To the right about face—March— it is not a time to be calling rolls, when the enemy are on the hill head, and we have orders to form. There will be about a score of rebels a piece to us, and we shall make short work with them.

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SCENE III.

Howe with the British Army.
Howe.
The day at length, propitious shews itself,
And with full beams of majesty, the sun,
Hath bless'd, its fair nativity; when Heaven,
Brave soldiers, and the cause of kings,
Calls on the spirit of your loyalty,
To chastise this rebellion, and tread down,
Such foul ingratitude—such menstrous shape,
Of horrid liberty, which spurns that love—
That fond maternal tenderness of soul,
Which on this dreary coast, first planted them:
Restrain'd the rage, of murdering savages,
Which, with fierce inroad, on their settlements,
Made frequent war—struck down the arm of France,
Just rais'd, to crush them, in their infancy:
And since that time, have bade their cities grow,
To marts of trade: call'd fair-ey'd commerce forth,
To share dominion, on the distant wave,
And visit every clime, and foreign shore.
Yet this, brave soldiers, is the proud return.
For the best blood of England, shed for them.
Behold yon hill, where fell rebellion rears,
Her snake-streatn'd ensign, and would seem to brave
With scarce seven hundred, this sea-bound Camp,
Where may be counted, full ten thousand men,
That in the war with France so late, acquir'd
Loud fame, and shook the other continent.
Come on brave soldiers, seize your gleaming arms,
And let this day, in after times be held,
As Minden famous, and each hostile field,
Where British valour, shone victorious.
The time moves slow, which enviously detains,
Our just resentment from these traitors heads.
Their richest farms, and cultur'd settlements,

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By winding river, or extensive bay,
Shall be your first reward. Our noble king,
As things confiscate, holds their property,
And in rich measure, will bestow on you,
Who face the frowns, and labour of this day,
He that outlives this battle, shall ascend,
In titled honour, to the height of state,
Dukedoms, and baronies, midst these our foes,
In tributary vassalage, kept down,
Shall be your fair inheritance. Come on,
Beat up th' heroic sound of war. The word,
Is George our sov'reign, and Britannia's arms.

SCENE IV.

Bunkers-Hill.
Warren with the American Army.
Warren.
To arms, brave countrymen, for see the foe,
Comes forth to battle, and would seem to try,
Once more, their fortune in decisive war.
Three thousand, 'gainst seven hundred, rang'd this day,
Shall give the world, an ample specimen,
What strength, and daring confidence, the sound,
Of Liberty inspires. That Liberty,
Which, not the thunder of Bellona's voice,
With fleets, and armies, from the British Shore,
Sall wrest from us. Our noble ancestors,
Out-brav'd the tempests, of the hoary deep,
And on these hills, uncultivate, and wild,
Sought an asylum, from despotic sway;
A short asylum, for that envious power,
With persecution dire, still follows us.
At first, they deem'd our charters forfeited.
Next, our just rights, in government, abridg'd.

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Then, thrust in viceroys, and bashaws, to rule,
With lawless sovereignty. Now added force,
Of standing armies, to secure their sway.
Much, have we suffer'd from the licens'd rage,
Of brutal soldiery, in each fair town.
The 5th of March, brave countrymen, that day
When Boston's streets ran blood, remember,
And let the memory, to revenge, stir up,
The temper of your souls. There might we still,
On terms precarious, and disdainful, liv'd,
With daughters ravished, and butcher'd sons,
But heaven, forbade the thought. These are the men,
Who in firm phalanx, threaten us with war,
And aim this day, to fix forever down,
The chains, which haughty tyranny has forg'd for us.
These count our lands and settlements their own,
And in their intercepted letters, speak,
Of forms, and tenements, secur'd for friends,
Which, if they gain, brave soldiers, let with blood,
The purchase, be seal'd down. Let every arm,
This day be active, in fair freedom's cause,
And shower down, from the hill, like Heav'n in wrath,
Full store of lightning, and force iron hail,
To blast the adversary. Let this ascent,
Like burning Ætna or Vesuvius top,
Be wrapt in flame—The word is Liberty,
And Heaven smile on us, in so just a cause.

SCENE IV.

Bunkers-Hill.
Gardiner,
leading up the American Army to the Engagement.
Fear not, brave soldiers, tho' their infantry,
In deep array, so far out-numbers us.
The justice of our cause, will brace each arm,
And steel the soul with fortitude; while they,

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Whose guilt, hangs on their consciences.
Must fail in battle, and receive that death,
Which, in high vengeance, we prepare for them.
Let then each spirit, to the height, wound up,
Shew noble vigour, and full force this day.
For on the merit, of our swords, is plac'd,
The virgin honour, and true character,
Of this whole Continent: and one short hour,
May give complexion, to the whole event,
Fixing the judgment whether as base slaves,
We serve these masters, or more nobly live,
Free as the breeze, that on the hill-top, plays,
With these sweet fields, and tenements, our own.
Oh fellow soldiers, let this battle speak,
Dire disappointment, to the insulting foe,
Who claim, our fair possessions, and set down,
These cultur'd-farms, and bowry-hills, and plains;
As the rich prize, of certain victory
Shall we, the sons of Massachusetts,
New-Hampshire, and Connecticut; shall we
Fell back, dishonour'd, from our native plains,
Mix with the savages, and roam for food,
On western mountains, or the desart shores,
Of Canada's cold lakes? or state more vile,
Sit down, in humble vassalage, content
To till the ground for these proud conquerors?
No, fellow soldiers, let us rise this day,
Emancipate, from such ignoble fate.
And should the battle, rob us of our lives,
Late time, shall give, an ample monument,
And bid her worthies, emulate our fame.

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ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Boston.
The British Army being Repuls'd, Sherwin is dispatch'd to General Gage for Assistance.
Sherwin, Gage, Burgoyne, and Clinton.
Sherwin.
Our men advancing, have receiv'd much loss,
In this encounter, and the case demands,
In the swift crisis, of extremity,
A thousand men to reinforce the war.

Gage.
'Tis yours, brave Clinton, to command, these men.
Embark them speedily. I see our troops,
Stand on the margin, of the ebbing flood,
(The flood affrighted, at the scene it views,)
And fear, once more, to climb the desp'rate hill,
Whence the bold rebel, showr's destruction down.

SCENE II.

Warren.
Mortally wounded, falling on his right knee, covering his breast with his right hand, and supporting himself with his firelock in his left.
A deadly ball, hath limited my life,
And now to God, I offer up my soul.
But oh my Countrymen, let not the cause,
The sacred cause of liberty, with me
Faint or expire. By the last parting breath,
And blood of this your fellow soldier slain,
Be now adjur'd, never to yield the right,
The grand deposit of all-giving heaven,
To man's free nature.
With these rude Britons, wage life-scorning was,
'Till they admit it, and like hell fall off,
With ebbing billows, from this troubl'd coast,

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Where but for them firm Concord, and true love,
Should individual, hold their court and reign.
Th' infernal engin'ry of state, resist
To death, that unborn times may be secure,
And while men flourish in the peace you win,
Write each fair name with worthies of the earth.
Weep not your Gen'ral, who is snach'd this day,
From the embraces of a family,
Five virgin daughters young, and unendow'd,
Now with the foe left lone and fatherless.
Weep not for him who first espous'd the cause
And risking life have met the enemy,
In fatal opposition—But rejoice—
For now I go to mingle with the dead,
Great Brutus, Hampden, Sidney and the rest,
Of old or modern memory, who liv'd,
A mound to tyrants, and strong hedge to kings,
Bounding the inundation of their rage,
Against the happiness and peace of man,
I see these heroes where they walk serene,
By chrystal currents, on the vale of Heaven,
High in full converse of immortal acts,
Atchiev'd for truth and innocence on earth.
Mean time the harmony and thrilling sound
Of mellow lutes, sweet viols, and guittars,
Dwell on the soul and ravish ev'ry nerve.
Anon the murmur of the tight-brac'd drum,
With finely varied fifes to martial airs,
Wind up the spirit to the mighty proof
Of siege and battle, and attempt in arms
Illustrious group! They beckon me along,
To ray my visage with immortal light,
And bind the amarinth around my brow.
I come, I come, ye first-born of true same.
Fight on my countrymen, be FREE, be FREE.

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SCENE III.

Charlestown.
The Reinforcement landed, and Orders given to burn Charlestown, that they might march up more securely under the smoke, General Howe, Rallies his Repuls'd and Broken Troops.
Howe.
Curse on the fortune, of Britannia's arms,
That plays the jilt with us. Shall these few men,
Beat back the flower, and best half of our troops,
While on our side, so many ships of war,
And floating batt'ries, from the mystic tide,
Shake all the hills, and sweep its ridgy top.
Oh Gods! no time, can blot its memory out,
We've men enough, upon the field to day,
To bury, this small handful, with the dust
Our march excites—back to the charge—close ranks.
And drive these wizzards from th' enchanted ground
The reinforcement which bold Clinton heads,
Gives such superiority of strength,
That let each man of us, but cast a stone,
We cover this small hill, with these few foes,
And over head, erect a pyramid.
The smoke, you see, enwraps us in its shade,
On, then, my countrymen, and try once more,
To change the fortune, of the inglorious day.

SCENE IV.

Bunkers-Hill.
Gardiner,
to the American troops on the retreat of the British.
You see, brave soldiers, how an evil cause,
A cause of slavery, and civil death,
Unmans the spirit, and strikes down the soul.
The gallant Englishman, whose fame in arms,
Through every clime, shakes terribly the globe,

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Is found this day, shorn off his wonted strength,
Repuls'd, and driven from the flaming hill.
Warren is fallen, on fair honour's bed,
Pierc'd in the breast, with ev'ry wound before,
'Tis ours, now tenfold, to avenge his death,
And offer up, a reg'ment of the foe,
Achilles-like, upon the Heroe's tomb.
See, reinforc'd they face us yet again,
And onward move in Phalanx to the war
Oh noble spirits, let this bold attack,
Be bloody to their host. God is our Aid
Give then full scope, to just revenge this day.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Bay Shore.
The British army now repuls'd, Howe again rallies his flying troops, who had been flying in every direction.
Howe.
But that so many mouths, can witness it,
I would deny myself in Englishman,
And swear this day, that with such cowardice,
No kindred, or alliance, has my birth.
Oh base degen'rate souls, whose ancestors,
At Cressy, Poictiers, and a' Agincourt,
With tenfold numbers, combated, and pluck'd
The budding laurels, from the brows of France.
Back to the charge, once more, and rather die,
Burn'd up, and wither'd on this bloody hill,
Than live the blemish, of your Country's same,
With everlasting, infamy oppress'd.
Their ammunition, as you hear, is spent,
So that unless, their looks, and visages,
Like firce-ey'd Basiliks, can strike you dead;
Return, and rescue yet, my Countrymen,
Some share of honour, on this hapless day.
Let some brave officers, stand on the rear,
And with the small sword, and sharp bayonet,

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Drive on each coward that attempts to lag,
That thus, sure death may find the villain out,
With more dread certainty, than him who moves,
Full in the van, to meet the wrathful foe.

SCENE II.

Gardner desperately wounded and borne from the field by two Soldiers.
Gardiner.
A musket-ball death wing'd, hath pierc'd my groin,
And widely op'd the swift curr'nt of my veins.
Bear me then Soldiers, to that hollow space,
A little hence, just in the hill's decline.
A surgeon there, may stop the gushing wound,
And gain a short respite to life, that yet,
I may return, and fight one half hour more.

SCENE III.

Putnam,
to the American Army.
Swift-rising fame, on early wing, mounts up,
To the convexity of bending Heaven,
And writes each name, who fought with us this day,
In fairest character, amidst the stars.
The world shall read it, and still talk of us,
Who far out-number'd twice drove back the foe,
With carnage horrid, murm'ring to their ships.
The Ghost of Warren says, enough—I see
One thousand veterans, mingled with the dust.
Now, for our sacred honour, and the wound,
Which Gard'ner feels, once more we charge once more
Dear friends, and fence the obscur'd hill,
With hecatombs of slain. Let every piece,
Flash, like the fierce-consuming fire of Heaven,
And make the smoke, in which they wrap themselves.
“A darkness visible.”—Now, once again,

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Receive the battle, as a shore of rock
The ocean wave. And if at last we yield,
Leave many a death, amidst their hollow ranks,
To damp the measure, of their dear-bought joy.

SCENE IV. AND LAST.

Bunkers-Hill.
The American Army overpower'd by numbers, are obliged to retreat.
Enter Howe, Pigot, and Clinton with the British Army.
Richardson,
a young Officer, on the Parapet.
The day is ours, huzza, the day is ours,
This last attack has forc'd them to retreat.

Clinton.
'Tis true, full victory declares for us,
But we have dearly, dearly, purchas'd it.
Full fifteen hundred, of our men lie dead,
Who, with their officers, do swell the list
Of this day's carnage—On the well-fought hill,
Whole ranks cut down, lie struggling with their wounds,
Or close their bright eyes, in the shades of night.
No wonder! such incessant musketry,
And fire of cannon, from the hill-top pour'd,
Seem'd not the agency, of mortal men,
But heaven itself, with vengeance arm'd,
T' oppose our gaining it. E'en when was spent
Their ammunition, and fierce Warren slain,
Huge stones were hurled from the rocky brow,
And war renew'd, by these inveterate;
'Till Gard'ner wounded, the left wing gave way,
And with their shatter'd infantry, the whole,
Drawn off by Putnam, to the causeway fled,

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When from the ships, and batt'ries on the wave,
They met deep loss, and strew'd the narrow bridge,
With lifeless carcases. O! such a day,
Since Sodom and Gomorrah sunk in flames,
Hath not been heard of by the ear of man,
Nor hath an eye beheld its parallel.

Lord Pigot.
The day is ours, but with heart-piercing loss,
Of soldiers slain, and gallant officers.
Old Abercrombie, on the field lies dead.
Pitcuirn and Sherwin, in sore battle slain.
The gallant reg'ment of Welsh fusileers,
To seventeen privates, is this day reduc'd.
The grenadiers, stand thinly on the hill,
Like the tall fir-trees on the blasted heath,
Scorch'd by the antumnal burnings, which have rush'd,
With wasting fire fierce through its leafy groves.
Should ev'ry hill by the rebellious foe,
So well defended, cost thus dear to us,
Not the united forces of the world,
Could master them, and the proud rage subdue
Of these Americans.—

Howe.
E'vn in an enemy I honour worth,
And valour eminent. The vanquish'd foe,
In feats of prowess shew their ancestry,
And speak their birth legitimate;
The sons of Britons, with the genuine flame,
Of British heat, and valour in their veins.
What pity 'tis, such excellence of mind,
Should spend itself, in the fantastic cause,
Of wild-fire liberty—Warren is dead,
And lies unburied, on the smoky hill;
But with rich honours he shall be inhum'd,
To teach our soldiery, how teach we love,
E'en in a foe, true worth and fortitude.
Come then brave soldiers, and take up the dead,

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Majors, and Col'nels, which are this day slain,
And noble Captains of sweet life bereft.
Fair dowers shall grow upon their grassy tombs,
And fame in tears, shall tell their tragedy,
To many a widow and soft weeping maid,
Or parent woe-ful for an only son,
Through mourning Britain, and Hibernia's Isle.

This dramatic thing is extremely juvenile; but on account of having some connection with the revolution, and shewing the part early taken by me in it, I have thought proper to collect it as a scrap of that period.

311

THE MODERN CHEVALIER.

NOT far off hence there was a cabbin
Inhabited by a great Rabbin,
A weaver who had serv'd the state,
Which Chevalier did not know yet,
And therefore having heard the loom,
Just as he had that way come
More out of humour than of ire
Began to feel a great desire
T' accost the manufacturer,
And ask him what was doing there;
A breed that earth themselves in cellars,
Like conjurors or fortune tellers;
Devoid of virtue and of mettle:
A sort of subterranean cattle,

312

Of no account in church or state,
Or ever think of being great,
As warriors or as politicians,
But lurk in dungeons like magicians.
Shall such an animal disturb
Quoth he, the peace of our suburb?
Or shall we drive him from his house,
And give him two or three kicks or blows?
Or is it best t' expostulate
And reasonably the matter state,
Why such inglorious life he leads;
And on alternate traddle treads?
Agreed; for what is moderate,
In counsel has the greatest weight;
And now advancing to the window
Like lover to his Rosalinda,
Address'd the manufacturer,
Or as 't were whisper'd in his ear,
With words melifluous and speeches
And parables, and far fair fetches,
His censure of the occupation:
But take it as it was; the oration.

“Believe me not a Knight uncourt'ous,
Devoid of manners and of virtues,
Though thus abruptly I address you,
But calmly wait and hear the issue.
Are you enchanted by some gipsey,
Who on your heart has cast a sheep's eye,
And fain would hug you to her amours
In low and subterranean chambers,
That thus you linger in sick mansion,
Where never hath the light of sun shone?
Or worsted in some desperate wrangle,
By Gyant is your foot and ancle
Enthral'd in bondage past unloosing?
Or are you here of your own choosing!
And for your pastime tread on haddles,
As men in water play with paddles,

313

Or maidens on spinnets that warble;
Or harpsicord with grating ter'ble?
Is that a loom that stands before ye
That keeps you from the walks of glory?
It ill befits that men whom nature,
Hath favour'd with such parts and feature,
Should waste the taper of existence,
In meaner arts, when their assistance
Is wanted both in field and council,
To help our politics at groundsell,
And make some new and wholesome laws.
Or is it reasonable those claws
Should be employ'd in knotting threads;
Or oratorial shoulder blades
Should work, to drive the texture close,
Which else might in the Senate house,
With proper gesture give just force
To your expressions and discourse?
No doubt you have the eloquence,
If we could but extract it thence,
To bend the judgment and persuade
And hit the right nail on the head;
For half the force of nature lies
In latent powers and qualities
Which but the art of men alone
Or the occasion can make known.
What is there in the orifice
Of oral organ or of eyes,
That you should only gape and stare,
Just fit to carry guts to a bear?
Arise and shake your slumber off;
You have capacity enough;
Assume your place in state affairs,
And get up to the top o' th' stairs.

The weaver sat and gap'd awhile
Astonish'd at unusual stile,
And was preparing to reply
With a new lustre in his eye,

314

When on the outside came a blow
From unknown but unnatural foe.
It was the weavers termagant
Who overhearing the Knight's rant
Did snatch a cudgel, and essay'd
A blow upon his shoulder blade,
Not to enable him with title,
But to give vent t' her rage a little;
But missing upper, did alight
Upon the postern of the Knight,
For head in window and hat slouching
He saw not this grey mare approaching,
The better horse at least o' th' weaver
And kept him in subjection ever.

Quoth she, what raggamuffin this
That comes to broach absurdities,
And turn again the crazy head
Of Traddle from his daily bread;
The business of his warp and woof,
Who has already had enough
Of politics and stuff, god knows,
Since first the hurry scurry rose:
The Devil burn them with hot pincers,
And scorch their knuckle joints and fingers,
Who put it first in his conceiving
To think of this, and quit his weaving,
While customer is at the door
And must have work done: what is more,
In these affairs what does he know?
About as much as my brown cow.
No wonder that am out of humour
With the discourse of every comer
That puts such whimsies in his brain
To turn him to his freaks again

With that she lays another thwack,
Impetuously upon the back
Of Knight who thought but of retiring
T' avoid th' unexpected firing,

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'Till reconnoitering the foe,
He could distinguish who was who.

No doubt he could have match'd the onset,
For his long sword was not the bluntest;
But seeing her unwarlike sex,
With petticoat about her legs.
He took again his hand from hilt;
For no presumption of the guilt
Could justify by laws of order
The hurting her or going further,
For such the deference due the weaker,
That for a Knight to draw a trigger
Or lift his hand against a woman,
Is deem'd unfair and unbecoming,
But rather gradually assuage
With oil of courtesy her rage,
And having dissipated clamour,
Convert the contest to an amour.
So having drop'd his ire and hanger,
He thus address'd him to harangue her.

“Uncourteous Damsel or Enchantress,
For you are not a common laundress,
What œstrum or phrenetic fury,
So underhandedly could spur ye,
To bastinado me, and break
My body from the rump to the neck,
Because I would do him a service
So long immur'd beneath the surface,
Why then from you uncourteous usage
Hard words, and cudgeling surplusage?
For such my meaning and fond wishes,
I had not thought of blows but kisses:
At least from one so fair as you are,
For as to charms of person few are,
More fit to be a Del' Tobosa,
And in Romances make a huzza.
Are you unwilling to take rise,
Above your natural pedigrees,

316

And get your family upstairs
Securing honour to your heirs
For be you wife or virgin daughter
Draw but a ticket in state lotter'
And have relation to the house,
Especially if tis a spouse,
He draws you up to the same place,
Acquiring novel privileges.

Quoth she, experience is best proof,
And therefore I am wise enough
To know the fulsomness of this
And Traddles popular services.
Much better he would keep t' his loom,
Nor listen to the rooks that come
And talk of the affairs of state;
Not much the better for them yet;
A set of idle lounging louts
That talk of interest and of votes
And keep him from his work, discoursing,
But never see them draw a purse string,
To recompence the loss of labour:
And after all what is't but jabber;
For what can he or they discover,
As I have told them over and over
In government that can be worth
The knowing or the calling forth?
The saying hits th' nail on th' head;
“Let every cobler stick t' his trade,”
And therefore be you what you will
I take your interfering ill,
To touch the fiddle string again
Of politicks that turns his brain.
No wonder that I feel some passion,
On this particular occasion,
And meditate another stroke;
Nor care I if your back is broke.

Quoth Knight, not half so much the blows
Of oaken stick hath wrought me woes,

317

As the bright lustre of your eyes
Which touches my propensities.
With teeth as white as ebony—
There's many a man would give a guinea,
To taste the ruby of your lips.
'Tis said that when a knight equips
Himself for deeds of chivalry,
Behoves t' have some one in his eye
Who fires his thoughts, and at whose feet
Throws all the victories he can get.
Now you are such a paragon
Of beauty's diamond set in stone,
That I am willing to enthral,
My heart to you and give you all.

Quoth she, my eyes are not so bright
That I can see without some light,
Nor have I any other teeth
Than serve to eat provisions with.
But were it so that I had beauty,
I better know my sworn duty
Than have it in the world said
That I put horns on Traddles head.

Quoth Knight, but is indissoluble
The knot, or cannot carry double?
Th' idea of antlers is a figure
Which are put on by the intriguer,
And do not in real'ty grow
Upon the injur'd husbands brow,
To make him Elk or Unicorn
With single or with double horn,
Or hinder him to enter door,
Or move as easily as before.
Think what an honour it will be
To have a progeny by me,
Same gallant chieftain or a worthy
To turn the world topsy turvy;
Unlike the offspring of one bred
To a diminutive manuel trade;

318

Whose mind partakes of situation
And the subordinate occupation.

Quoth she have read some of your books
Knight errant Quixots', and their jokes,
Who fought with windmills, in a wood,
And drew from one another blood.
But was it not the rule with these
First to perform the services
Before did claim the ladies favour
As the demerit of their labour,
Now there is not far off a writer
To whom I bear a little spite here,
Because he laughs at Traddle's nonsense
Which is not equal to his own sense,
And says it is a vile state slur
To chuse him for a senator;
And though some truth may be in this
Not always should the truth express,
At least when it concerns him not;
Now I would have you go red hot
And cudgel him for this provoking,
And his unseasonable joking;
For though it is ridiculous
That Traddle should go to the house,
Or take a seat as he has done,
Why should it be so harp'd upon,
Or any but myself express
A sense of the unworthiness,
Though by the bye he is as fit,
As others that have no more wit,
And yet are pass'd by in the ballad
Escaping names that he is called.

Quoth Knight, you hit the very essence
Of all my spirits' effervessence
Which is to tread in magic steps
Of chivalry, and hair breadth scapes,
Redressing injury and wrong,
Of matron grave or damsel young;

319

For beauty is a brand that lights
Warm passion in the breast of Knights,
Down from the earliest days to this,
Which is at bottom of the base.
As to this writer in Gazette
He is a rascally marmozette,
As more that draw satiric quill
Half starv'd in garret 'gainst their will,
And worse than spiders which inhabit
The same aerial dome and abode.
Or wasps who with their nests incumber
Aerial garrets amid lumber,
And sting the very hand that presses.
Or lodges with them, and caresses.
No wonder that a mess-mate writer
Should be a damnable back-biter,
And if he has not kings t' engage
Attacks a weaver with his rage;
But shall repent it suddenly.

The Lady blandish'd with her eye,
And seem'd to thank him for his heat,
Hence set cut to enquire the seat,
And chastise this Archilochus
With battery and actual blows,
For words no more affect such vermin
Than does a hypocrite, a sermon,
Who turns deaf ear to your inveigh'ng
And goes on with his work again;
Though first it might be well t' upbraid
Before should come to break his head;
Preserve the usual character
Of good men when they go to war,
That of humanity and pains
To save the loss of blood and brains,
Until necessity aloud
Doth say that such way does no good:
Then it behoves t' impress the force
Of arm and cudgel on the curs.

320

It was a garret high in th' air
With small incumbrance round it, where
The Rhymister had his residence
And issued all his lampoons thence,
The Knight perceiv'd him us he enter'd
With scratch and scrawl of verse encenter'd,
And though lip quivered and his rage
Bespoke the war he meant to wage,
Yet did compose his brow to rest
And thus the adversar' address'd.

Quoth he though not devoid of manners
To the more honourable retainers
Of muse, and melody, and wit,
Who labour daily to excite,
The pleasing images of fancy,
In ode or madrigal or stanza;
Yet scarce have common courtesy,
To dogrel versifiers that lie
In obscure garrets, and from thence
Send forth th' expenditure of brains:
As't were the inmates of the rafter,
The fabricators of low laughter;
Who spare not neighbouring characters
Of any animal that stirs,
Up from the beggar to the prince;
And uselessly must break their shins,
Just merely to express the jest
That comes into their heads in haste:
The ebullition of their fun;
And you are such a son of a gun;
For is there not one Traddle, whom
You have depicted as the scum
Of Politicians of the age,
Which puts his Lady in a rage;
A weaver made a senator;
Object it to him as a slur;
And undervalue manual trade,
And calling of inferior grade;

321

Whereas in such consists our riches,
Without them where were coat or breeches
Or other vestment that we wear
But for the manufacturer?
But whence particular hate to this,
The sphere of your antipodes;
The cellar weaving Knight that lurks
While you swim to the top like corks,
And take your station in mid air,
And weave your compositions there,
And ought to have a fellow feeling
For those in nadir of your dwelling:
For both are of the mystery
Though one is low the other high.
But being a lady in the case
Behoves to interpose; suppress
Your obloquy in verse or prose,
Kick breech or corrugate the nose,
For such the dernier resort,
Reciprocation of the sport;
That, diction when it meets repuls,
Should vibrate to its native sculls,
And reach the head that fram'd the verse
And did maliciously asperse.

Quoth writer, though a man o' th' sword,
Yet by the grammar of your word
You seem of literary talent,
With noble air and manner gallant,
And hurts me that you have t' express
The language of such prejudice
Against a loitering garretteer,
Especially myself, who here
Have honour to receive address,
From one of so much worthiness.
But though we have our residence
More elevate than other men's;
Like mad-cap wasps, sting travellers,
By flying at all characters;

322

Yet not without our proper use
In system to correct abuse,
When what is fungous, or absurd
In common matters has occur'd;
For instance when the foot puts head
Beneath upon the soil to tread,
And takes itself the upper place,
There is a monster in the case;
And we designate it, and note
Conversion of the head and foot,
And cast a ridicule on swain,
Who has ambition in his brain
To be a statesman, and make laws
Instead of working with his claws:
Because his nature had not made
His mind for legislative trade;
At least the want of literature
T' appear with dignity in sphere,
Is an obstruction to the rise:
And hence more rational and wise
To occupy the quondam place
Than struggle for such loftiness,
And hence it is I have inveigh'd
'Gainst Traddle, not because his trade
Is underserving, but because
Would quit it to enact our laws;
For sir, would be as far as you
From bringing matters into view,
That may relate to means of living
As that of boot-making or weaving.
I hold all arts in estimation
Nor undervalue occupation;
And think a ditcher a good fellow,
Provided he his business follow,
It is unnatural change of places,
And the conversion that disgraces,
An able ditcher making laws
A senator in the morass.

323

In their own element all natures
Appear with justifiable features:
Why call a surgeon to set bone
If Judgment is not look'd upon?
Is government an easy art?
Just like the driving of a cart
Which ever doth some skill require
To keep the wheel out of the mire.
'Tis thought the highest art of man
With comprehensive view to scan
The various interests of a state
And means of its becoming great.
I question not the good intent
Of Traddle for the government,
But the ability and skill,
On fact and similar principle.
As if a customer mounts loom,
Who accidentally might come;
And though his will is just as good
He cannot weave the web for's blood
But breaks the thread and works much evil,
Not instigated by the devil,
And so not object of our hate
Yet impropriety is great
And in the nature of things absurd.

The Knight had drank in every word
And thought the principle of's speech,
Some shew of reason seem'd to reach.

Quoth Writer, it was first my view
In what with Traddle had to do,
To open eyes, and men convince,
At least the people of good sense,
How injudicious they were
Of sending untaught character
To pourtray in the senate hours
As if he were the type of us;
But now with the description wearied,
Have brought my lampoons to a period,

324

And will no farther speak or write,
Especially since a worthy Knight
As you appear to be, advise it,
In this polite and friendly visit.

Quoth Knight, th' opportune courtesy,
Allays the passion that was high,
And now t' apologise for question
And my intruding on th' occasion,
Am of the order, and a Knight
Whose object is to set things right;
Depress th' unworthy and raise up
The preferable to the top,
And injury and force restrain
Of warriors sword, or writers pen,
Distributing best services
And keeping commonwealth in peace,
And hence was led to interfere
In aid of Traddles character.
Whose Lady is an Amazon,
And beauty's perfect paragon,
And laid it on me as a task
My sword and battery to unmask,
Against your irony and wit
By which her conjugal is hit,
And bid your pipe and verse repose,
Or take th' incendiar' by the nose,
Which from apology so courteous,
Expressive of your sense and virtues.
I wave, as being satisfied
That you have reason on your side:
But for the sake of this said matron
For am no rigid son of saturn,
Would wish you to be smooth and moderate
Until your differences are sodered,
Nor carry to extremes the war,
But learn to conquer and to spare.
Enough is said to give your sense
Without your taking farther pains,

325

So drop your currency of quill
And volubility be still,
And turn to other quarters for
The instances that may occur
T' elucidate your argument,
And give your oratory vent:
For though so rough my late address,
Do not consider you the less,
But rank you as of class with us,
A writer at th' top o' th' house;
A kind of literary knight,
Dispos'd to keep the world quiet
By aid of your satiric verse,
Th' insignificant t' amerce,
Or put down villainy and pride
That has opinion on its side,—
For ridicule's a test of truth,
No less than reason; for it sheweth,
The weak and vulnerable part,
And probes distemper to the heart.
Hence kings have dreaded it and beggars,
More than artill'ry that beleaguers
Of rational and sober sense;
For when men laugh the farce begins,
And thing becomes a harlequin
Whom you contemple with a grin
Leads men to hate it: As you please
Can turn the adversar' to geese,
To rat or monkey, and give tails
Just as the ide' you have prevails;
Effectual as magicians spell,
Or conjurer come out of hell,
For on retina of the eye,
Doth spread the worst absurdity,
So that no power of champion's sword
Doth surer victory afford,
Or throws a more oppressive weight
Into the scale of church or state.

326

Quoth writer, what you represent,
Is doubtless a great compliment
T' assimilate a knight and writer,
And of an equal worth consider;
But waving compliment, and reason
You have set forth with good expression;
I deem it greatly fortunate
That in this boist'rous time though late,
One has arisen with such skill
To subjugate all shape of ill.
It seem'd to me not long ago
As I did read a page or so,
The spirit of Chivalry was gone
Which has in other ages shone,
And left the world to common means;
Where what is gradual intervenes,
Without the aid of knight or waiter
To interfere and make it better.
But since excluding this conclusion,
You as it were have made intrusion,
And shewn by an example splendid,
That such exertion is not ended,
Go on like other combatants
Not just like them in killing g'ants;
But in performing modern good,
For ages are not now so rude
As to produce the like disorders
Which were remov'd by antient orders;
And more by chivalry of tongue
Remains it now to redress wrong,
Than by an actual violence;
No doubt we have good share of sense,
Among the people of these states;
But yet have taken't in their pates,
Because have privilege of office
They have the qualities that suffice,
And as republics have laid open
Advance to all men, there's no stopping,

327

And not a thing that wears a head
By an immediate impulse led
But sets up for a senator.
And though we do not hear the stir,
Of giants, monsters now adays,
Yet there is trouble other ways,
In keeping down licentiousness
Of what we call our privileges,
And just as much ado to quash
Election that is rather rash,
As was of old to knock down champ'ons;
And tho' harangu'd them in my lampoons;
Yet still the populace do err
Not chusing qualified that are;
But giving to such men their votes
That have as little sense as goats;
And thus it was that though did wage
A war with Traddle, had no rage,
Against the manufacturer;
But meant it as a kind of slur
Or fable designating hate
Against this evil in the state,
Men running up to services
Who are not fitted for the place,
Not having just capacity,
Because another way doth lie
The effort of the untaught brain;
Not that they are inferior men,
But of themselves are very good
Provided would not thus intrude
And make equality a curse
By not distinguishing the force
And aptitude of natural powers
For their own offices or ours.

And now this day there is a rout
Scarce on your way a mile about,
Of people met to form a ticket
Of those who chuse to politic it,

328

And be our representatives
According as their interest thrives
For the respective candidate;
It would do service to the state.
If such a noble Knight as you
Would teach them what they ought to do,
And give them seasonable lessons
Respecting such their crude creations,
That on the one hand while they pass
The ignorant though monied ass,
So on the other should avoid
The chusing such amongst the crowd
As are unqualified, though less,
They may in property possess.

The Knight set out, and not far off
Fell in with people busy enough
About the matter of a choice,
And soon distinguish'd some ones voice,
As one who was a candidate.
The Knight address'd the people met
With usual stile of eloquence,

Quoth he, my fellow citizens,
No doubt you are all men of skill
In state affairs, and have good will
In serving this our government
Republican from heaven sent,
Where all may climb to offices
Like animals that clamber trees;
But yet this liberty should use
As Saint Paul says, so not t' abuse;
And while each one retains the right
To bring his talents to the light,
Yet let the public mind prefer
I do not say the worthier
But him most for the office sit,
By his peculiar cast of wit,
And talent for particular case
And senatorial services,

329

As nature fits one horse to run
Another draws artillery gun:
For surely in the framing laws
There's need of something more than claws,
Or horn or hoof, or nails to scratch
At least to frame them with dispatch;
For judgment must be something worth
And speech to make a man hold forth,
And justify the step he takes;
Else twisted like a nose of wax
He bends just to the fugal man
With whom the yea or nay began;
Doth loose the natural dignity
Which all men have in reason's eye
While unaffectedly they move
And keep the corresponding groove,
For when th' unqualified are up,
And take their station at the top,
The commonwealth may be express'd
In the similitude of beast
That runs with tail upon its back
In its excursion through the brake;
Racoon, opossum or a bear,
Devoid of intellect that are.

These words encourag'd one hard by
Who had advancement in his eye,
From the pretension of some sense,
To hazard his own eloquence.
Quoth he have had the inclination
To take a turn in public station,
Not that I have the greatest skill,
But that I have the best good will
To be a representative
And make the public interest thrive;
T' assist your trade, and make you rich,
And give you liberty, for which
You have sustain'd so long a war
And now at length victorious are.

330

What profits it to have knock'd down
The great Cornwallis and Burgoyne
If in the meantime money-less
Your agriculture languishes?
It is the fault of those at helm
That these distresses overwhelm,
For if just measures were pursued
Our government would do us good:
And mischiefs that are come to pass
Be remedied by proper laws.
But those you send are loggerheads
And might as well be in their beds;
Or if they have a little share
Of sense and industry to spare,
They lay it out for their own use
And personal interest introduce.

As for this man that is set up,
What is foundation of his hope?
Has he more knowledge than a goose?
By what criterion do you chuse?
Is it his speech or dialect,
That has so rapidly you prick'd
To elevate him to a sphere
Where greatest orators appear?
Or are you credulous there is
In him some occult faculties
Which when the time may come about
You may be able to find out?
Or is it out of mere caprice
Would give him such unnatural rise
To shew the people can supply
A sudden respectability;
A man to power and greatest weight
From nothing as it were create?

To him the man not erudite,—
(For he could neither read or write)
But by a necromantic skill
Could lead the people at his will,

331

By means of some infernal dews
By which he sprinkled them profuse:
Not dews of Acheron or Styx,
By which he play'd these magic tricks,
But dews which he himself distill'd
From what he gather'd in his field:
Men call it whiskey, but the Gods
Call't what they please above the clouds.
Who tasted it was straightway drawn
Insensibly to taste again,
And such the virtue of the fluid,
But say not whether bad or good,
Whoever put his nose to th' steam
Conceiv'd the delusory dream
Of being more than what he was;
And hence it easily came to pass
H' attributed the fume o' his brain
To a celestial origin;
And thought the giver of the fluid
With more than mortal pow'rs indu'd
And worshipp'd him: you might have seen
Idolaters before the shrine
At morn and midday prostrate there
Or offering up an evening prayer.
No wonder that they thought him fit
With every talent requisite,
To occupy a place of trust,
Where weightiest matters are discuss'd,
And gave up sense and power of vote
For the ambrosia they had got;
And hence he had been Constable,
And acted as he was well able:
And next a Justice of the peace,
And bound o'er people at his ease,
And now become a candidate
For the assembly of the state,
He made no speech, but pointed out,
A keg of whiskey to the croud,

332

As much as if to say there is,
The test of my best services.

Why need I say the man was chosen,
By people waving like the ocean;
The wonder would be if left out.
The fact was he got every vote,
And would have got had there been more,
Or of competitors a score.

The Knight broke silence, and gave scope
To words as fast as he could ope
Regretting this such strange perversion,
Of the political exertion.

Quoth he, am no aristocrat
To blame what people would be at,
In chusing from the multitude
Him destitute of noble blood,
Nor senc'd with family connections,
To gain the popular affections.
Nor do I much regard estate
In chusing men to legislate,
As if alone your purse-proud fellow;
Were capable to blow the bellows.
For poor in purse as well as spirit,
Have oftentimes the greatest merit,
And those in lowest life have wit,
And may be for an office fit,
With education for the place
And the connatural services,
More than the rich and glorious,
Who have a castle for a house
And ask an hundred men to dine,
Where all varieties combine,
As if the eating much and drinking,
Could help the faculty of thinking
Or looking at the bulk of stones,
Or brick they have about their bones,
In shape of building, could advance
Their parts above a common man's.

333

Have known as many perfect beasts
In ignorance at rich men's feasts,
As ever in inferior station
Where natural sense gets little lesson;
Have no ide' that equipages,
Can give unusual privileges,
Of sense and reason in the brain,
But often plain and labouring men
May have more sense than those whom riches,
Have dignified; the sons of bitches,
That set a value on estates,
As being a substitute for pates;
Whereas the talent nature gives
Original in the spirit lives,
And independent of the sod
Which else inglorious might be trod;
And hence the men that have been sages,
And greatest warriors of all ages,
Have had their birth in poverty,
And through distress have risen high:
For exercise of wit gives wit,
And renders the possessor fit,
For station that he occupies,
Or prompts him to superior rise,
Whereas the weight of wealth keeps down,
With an incumbrance of its own,
The fool imagining his gold,
Outweighs his folly when 'tis told
And turns to wisdom what he says,
Though ignorant as cow at grass.
Have seen enough to make me sick
Of purse proud men who very weak,
Have arrogated sense though were
As senseless as a sucking bear,
Which I despise and reprobate,
And would exclude them from the state,
Educing better progeny
Which fortune seems to have past by.

334

So that no aristocracy
But nature that I have in eye.
Nor is it literature alone,
That I would take my stand upon.
There are as many natural fools,
That have the literature of schools,
As have it not; and mother wit,
Is better than the whole of it:
The common people have a right
To throw into the state their mite,
Though not born all philosophers,
To gaze at planets and read stars,
And not in the academie
Are always found the very wise,
And science is but little help
To one by nature a dull whelp;
But what is nature without art,
To qualify for any part?
Whether it be the making shoes,
Or rectifying state abuse;
For not, as in the scripture phrase
Comes inspiration now adays
To make a statesman prophecy
And see with an intuitive eye,
But men just as they were remain,
Before were taken up. Again,
The making laws is not of grace,
And inspiration has no place,
And so that whether poor or rich,
And by the bye it makes not which;
Or whether learn'd in school or not,
Or education may have got,
I want the man of sense, of brain,
To put into the statesman's train;
Which not in this case is the case.
If one may from appearance guess.
Is it necessity or use
You have to plead in your excuse?

335

Or do you wish to burlesque us
By sending such a thing to th' house?
It is ungenerous and unfair,
For you to be the merrier
At our disgrace and ignominy,
Being all as't were indigent!
Of this same soil and residence.

Some thought the man had spoken sense,
But others willing to dissent
Not understanding what he meant
Or caring much about the matter;
(Just Lillibolera at Boyne water,
Would here have suited them as well,
Or Gibberland or Granuel)
Shewed symptoms of dissatisfaction,
Opinion having a re-action;
And urging an appeal to force,
From the decision of discourse.
So that it seem'd the wiser way
To drop the occasion of affray,
Retiring from the multitude
And let him talk and fight who would.

It struck into the head of knight,
And glad he was he had come by't
To go t' a conjurer and enquire,
Into the case a little higher
Of what had puzzled him of late
These strange vagaries of the state;
And humour of the multitude;
Could do no harm, if not much good.

Approach'd the cell, and this his speech,
Quoth he I come not to beseech
Your conjuror-ship to explicate
How I a thing that's lost may get,
A cow a stray horse or a cheep,
But mystery that is more deep,
Videlicet; (and here he stated
The difficulty we have narrated.)

336

Quoth conjuror could better tell
What hurry scurry is in hell,
Or going on above the sun
Or will in future day be done;
Can question nature in her course,
And read the stars when mankind snores,
Or cast nativities and teach
A man's whole fortune at a stretch;
Go under ground and dig up spades,
Or dive in ocean to fish-beds,
And rifle trunks of men of war
That at the very bottom are
Or run through dens beneath the earth
And drag out thiefsters for our mirth,
For this is given to conjurors skill
But not a single syllable
Above the common race of men
To sphynx it and the cause explain
Of natural phenomenon
Such as you have just touch'd upon.

Prevaricative, quoth Knight and false.
Can you that trip it through stone walls
Not enter into human breast,
And read the passion there express'd,
And tell the origin of it,
In mode and manner explicit?
If maid wants husband, you can shew
The physiognomy of the beau,
And yet not tell why men run mad
Upon this legislative trade.
Is't easier or of better use
To find a stray horse, or stolen goose,
Than satisfy one at a loss
On what strange gudgeons this thing goes
That populace who have some sense
Should chuse a clod-pole without brains
To be themselves as't were i' th' house
And bear the politics th'espouse,

337

Well knowing that the image must
Bespeak th' original of bust,
And that they suffer in the shape
Which they send forward there to gape.
Now tell me what the cause of this
Absurdity of suffrages.

Not able, quoth the conjurer,
But there's a great philosopher
Not far off who has studied books,
And is a wise man by his looks,
Consider'd human nature so
That he can look it through and through,
And knows the inside of the scull
And breast of man, as well t' th' full
As I can by an astrolabe
Take in the Heaven's at a grab
And tell the future destiny
Of things that are in fortunes eye:
For this my skill, and my profession.

Quoth Knight, no need of a digression,
Or further homily to explain
Particular defect of brain.
The moral causes are best known
To him who keeps his noddle down,
Upon affairs of state; whereas,
In other studies, for a cause,
Behoves t' apply to them that know
From the particular bent of brow.
The mathematician can demonstrate
What line is crooked or goes on straight;
The chymist analyse a vapour
And make the hydrogen appear
Or oxygen if such there be,
Pent up in the concavity;
So that apology you make
Accounts in some sort for renege
And reference to another office,
For why or wherefore that may suffice;
And hence I take me to my scrapers
And farther investigating labours—
Elsewhere t' examine, and discuss,

338

This state arcanum & non plus.

So having spoke concluded diction,
Lest he should make the conj'rer sick soon
And turn'd short off his perg'roration,
With more of thought and less oration,
Towards the sage's residence,
And having entered thus begins.

Quoth he, have been with a strange wight,
Who proves a mere blatherskite,
A conjuror, but cannot tell,
Tho' has much magic in his eell;
How is it?—(here he stated knot,
The difficulty he came about
And pray'd the sage philosopher
To give the reason of th' affair:)
Was it enchantment of the brain,
That hurts the intellects of men,
And charms, that unawares invade
With error, popular cavalcade,
And mists and necromantic spells;
Made out of pots and crucibles,
To cloud the fancy and obscure,
The honest vision of the viewer
Who is deceiv'd and gives his vote,
As blindly as if drawn by lot,
Without distinction of the good,
Or bad among the multitude.

Quoth sage, it may be the gallanter,
To say 'tis done by an enchanter,
But so it is that simple nature,
Without a cause occult or greater,
Than men's own ordinary passions,
Or accident of the occasions,
Produces this phenomenon,
You seem so much to harp upon.
Sometimes it happens that caresses,
And courtesy attains the graces,
And bends the populace to him,
Who falls in with the popular whim;
For not th' inducement of best sense.
But in our liking choice begins;

339

For public interest gains no vote,
It is an object so remote—
Moreover envy of the good,
Will put the people in a mood,
To chuse the worst, out of mere spite,
To shew you that they have a right,
To take him up you call a fool
Out of the election water pool:
And of't without a thought they chuse,
As't were by accident' a goose;
Not knowing what they are about;
Until the tickets are drawn out.
Or if they would select the wise,
Stupidity has his disguise
Of sapience from his graver air,
Whereas sound reason speaks out clear,
And there is nothing magical,
Where you can comprehend it all;
But the obscure is the sublime,
And hence the people value him,
That has no speech at all, as gods.
Were rais'd to the supreme abodes,
In Egypt out of cats and rats,
And leeks and onions and all that's
Contemptible of beast or stock,
Because these us'd no words to shock
The adverse sentiments of men:
Or what may farther serve t' explain:
No one is jealous of the dunce,
Nor journal thinks worth, while to pounce
Upon the ignoble candidate,
While the artillery of gazette
Plays on the obvious character
Which can afford some wear and tear,
And the excited prejudice
To a new progeny gives rise
Of falshood and malevolence,
Perversions that the bad dispense
Against the endeavours of the good,
And wise not rightly understood,

340

So that, through medium of their hate,
Refracted, there is nothing great,
But like a wand in wave immers'd,
Seems crooked from the being espers'd;
For as a fly is seen to poke
His nose where'er the skin is broke;
So calumny discovers faults,
And from defects to crimes exalts;
While such as have but little force
Of nature, like a cow or horse,
Are safe, because what can be said
But that they have been stolen or stray'd.?
Hence paragraphists have no wool,
Or warp to make invective of
And while no one exclaims, the wight,
Is deem'd for the advancement fit,
Or suffered to retain his place
Not on the score of works but grace;
Sufficient if he can say nay
Or ope his mouth to get out yea,
Just as the fugal man o' th' party,
Gives motion to the Neil McCarty:
For being an automation,
The movement need not be his own
And is more regl'ar the less sense,
Of independence he retains,
And less affects self-love of such,
As actuate the scaramouche;
And hence no word of him but good,
At home amongst the multitude,
So that he goes and goes again,
While the republic lasts—Amen.

The problem seem'd to have solution.
And merited a contribution.
So asking what was to be paid,
The able casuist shook his head,
Declining to make charge—The Knight,
Was glad to have so cheap come by't,
And taking leave he wish'd him well,
Which is the ending of the tale.

This was written about the year 1788-9, and gave rise in the authors mind to a publication under the signature of Modern Chivalry.

341

A PASTORAL SONG.

[_]

THE following Morceau, was communicated to me in manuscript from William Bradford, late Attorney General of the United States. He was then just entering on the practice of the law at York-town, Pennsylvania—And I insert it here as a token of my affection for his memory. It will be seen to be an imitation of Shenstone.

THE shepherd of fortune possest
May scorn, if he please, my poor cot,
May think in his wealth to be blest,
But I will not envy his lot.
The pleasures which riches impart
Are fleeting and feeble when known;
They never give peace to the heart,
It scorns to be happy alone.

That shepherd true happines knows,
Whose bosom by beauty is mov'd,
Who tastes the pure pleasure that flows
From loving and being belov'd.
'Tis a joy of angelical birth,
And when to poor mortals 'tis given,
It cheers their abode upon earth,
And sweetens the journey to heaven.

How briskly my spirits would move!
What peace in this bosom would reign!
Were I blest with the nymph that I love,
Sweet Emma, the pride of the plain.
Ye shepherds, she's fair as the light!
The critic no blemish can find;
And all the soft virtues unite,
And glow in her innocent mind.

342

Her accents are formed to please,
Her manners engagingly free,
Her temper is ever at ease,
And calm as an angel's can be.
Her presence all sorrow removes,
She enraptures the wit and the clown,
Her heart is as mild as the dove's,
Her hand is as soft as its down.

Yon lily which graces the field,
And throws its perfumes to the gale,
In fairness and fragrance must yield
To Emma, the pride of the vale.
She's pleasant as yonder cool rill
To travellers who faint in the way;
She's sweet as the rose on the hill,
When it opens its bosom to day.

I ask not for wealth, or for power,
Kind Heaven! I these can resign;
But hasten, O hasten the hour,
When Emma shall deign to be mine.
O teach her to pity the pain
Of a heart that if slighted must break;
Oh teach her to love the fond swain,
That would lay down his life for her sake.

Though poor I will never repine,
Content that my Emma is true;
I'll press her dear bosom to mine,
And think myself rich as Peru.
With her will I stray through the grove,
And fondly I'll pour out my soul.
Indulge my effusions of love,
And find myself blest to the full.

And oft in the cool of the day,
We'll ramble to hear the sweet chorus,
That vibrates so oft from each spray,
Along the green banks of Codorus.

343

With flowers I'll crown her dear hair,
Then gaze on her beauties, and cry,
What nymph can with Emma compare!
What shepherd so happy as I!

Thus cheerful the moments shall roll
Of all my fond wishes possest,
And peace shall descend on my soul,
And make it her favourite rest.
Contentment my life shall prolong,
All trouble and sorrow forgot,
And time as he hurries along,
Shall smile upon Corydon's cot.

University of Virginia Library

ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE.

THE AUTHOR AND THE CRITIC.

A Dialogue.

A Masque, written at the Warm-Springs, in Virginia, in the year 1784.

On the running away of the Nineteen Members of Assembly from the house, when it was proposed to call a Convention to consider the new system of Congressional Government; and on the apology made by them in their address, &c.

A HUDIBRASTIC.

Apology for the Dissentients in the State Convention.

THOUGHTS ON INDIAN TREATIES.

On his excellency Anthony Wayne, commander in chief of the Federal Army, who died at Presq'isle, Dec. 14, 1796, on his return from his campaign against the Indians.

Genethlicon of the United States Magazine.

CINCINNATUS.

A POEM.

TO WHISKEY.

WHISKEY,

IN ANSWER.

ANSWER TO AQUA VITÆ.

ANSWER TO BRUCE.

BRUCE TO AQUA VITÆ.

TO --- BRUCE.

ANSWER.

REPLY.

Ideas at the interment of Mrs. Bedford, the wife of Doctor Nathaniel Bedford of Pittsburgh, July 9th, 1790.

THE BATTLE OF BUNKERS HILL,

(CALLED ALSO THE BATTLE OF Breed's Hill . )

Prologue, by Colonel John Park, of the American army.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

SCENE IV.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

The Roll Call.

SCENE III.

SCENE IV.

SCENE IV.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

SCENE IV.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

SCENE IV. AND LAST.

THE MODERN CHEVALIER.

A PASTORAL SONG.

(CALLED ALSO THE BATTLE OF Breed's Hill* . )*