The songs of Joseph Mather

Corruption tells me homicide
Is wilful murder justified,
A striking precedent was tried
In August, 'ninety-five,
When arm'd assasins dress'd in blue
Most wantonly their townsmen slew,
And magistrates and juries too
At murder did connive.

I saw the tragic scene commence;
A madman drunk, without offence
Drew out his sword in false pretence,
And wounded some more wise;
Defenceless boys he chased about,
The timid cried, the bold did shout,
Which brought the curious no doubt
To see what meant the noise.

The gazing crowd stagnated stood
To see a wretch that should know good,
Insatiate thirst for human blood
Like one sent from beneath;
This gave me well to understand
A sword put in a madman's hand,
Especially a villian grand,
Must terminate in death.

'Twas manifest in the event
That what the bloody tyrant meant
Was murder without precedent.
Though by injustice screened.
The “Courant” may her columns swell,
Designing men may falsehoods tell,
Not all the powers of earth and hell
Can justify the fiend.

This arm'd banditti, filled with spleen,
At his command, like bloodhounds keen,
In fine, to crown the horrid scene,
A shower of bullets fired.
The consequence was deep distress,
More widows, and more fatherless,
The devil blushed and did confess
'Twas more than he required.

Corruption cried for this exploit
“His worship shall be made a knight,
I hold his conduct just and right,
And think him all divine.”
Oppression need not fear alarms,
Since tyranny has got such swarms
Of gallant heroes bearing arms,
To butcher-grunting swine.

The stones besmeared with blood and brains,
Was the result of Robin's pains,
Surviving friends wept o'er the stains,
When dying victims bled;
As Abel's blood aloud did call
To Him whose power created all,
Eternal vengeance sure must fall
Upon his guilty head.

Ye wanton coxcombs, fops, and fools,
Aristocratic dupes and tools,
Subject yourselves to better rules,
And cast away that badge.
Remember on a future day
Corruption must be done away,
Then what will you presume to say
When truth shall be your judge?

University of Virginia Library

Song XXIX. NORFOLK-STREET RIOTS.