The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
 | I. |
|
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
|
| III. |
|
THE ARISTOCRAT'S WAR-WHOOP.
|
| IV. |
 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
THE ARISTOCRAT'S WAR-WHOOP.
ADDRESSED TO ALL DESPAIRING TORIES.
Dear chop-fallen feds, don't hang down your heads,
Rouse up and prepare,—the election approaches;
Tho' Freedom prevail, let's never turn tail,
But snivel out curses, and groans, and reproaches.
No scheming or swearing you know we have stuck at,
And show them to-day
From the Hook to Cape May
That we're still something more than a drop in the bucket.
Rouse up and prepare,—the election approaches;
Tho' Freedom prevail, let's never turn tail,
But snivel out curses, and groans, and reproaches.
No scheming or swearing you know we have stuck at,
And show them to-day
From the Hook to Cape May
That we're still something more than a drop in the bucket.
Hypocrisy's gown, let it wrap us around,
Sometimes looking mild as a lamb or a pigeon:
With holy grimace, and a sanctified face,
Denouncing the deists and groaning religion;
Declaring aloud that the Democrat crowd,
If Jefferson is not deposed from his station,
Will grow in his fangs, like the orang-outangs,
Bereft of all senses and civilization.
Sometimes looking mild as a lamb or a pigeon:
With holy grimace, and a sanctified face,
Denouncing the deists and groaning religion;
Declaring aloud that the Democrat crowd,
If Jefferson is not deposed from his station,
Will grow in his fangs, like the orang-outangs,
Bereft of all senses and civilization.
To keep up the veil, let's drop the old tale
Of order, good government—rig'rous and martial;
But whine and lament in the new Tory cant
Of soldiers dismissed, and appointments so partial;
Let's swear to a man, that the whole is a plan
To grab to themselves all the loaves and the fishes,—
That curst sans-culottes may cut all our throats,
Or spare us, in mercy, to lick all their dishes.
Of order, good government—rig'rous and martial;
But whine and lament in the new Tory cant
Of soldiers dismissed, and appointments so partial;
Let's swear to a man, that the whole is a plan
To grab to themselves all the loaves and the fishes,—
That curst sans-culottes may cut all our throats,
Or spare us, in mercy, to lick all their dishes.
368
As Heav'n's my judge, I owe them a grudge,
And vengeance and hate in my heart is a-hovering;
To think that such wretches, escap'd from the clutches
Of George, our most gracious, omnipotent Sovereign,—
To see his dominions, by Paine's curst opinions,
Cut up and controul'd by mechanics and farmers;
Without noble blood, and bespattered with mud,—
It drives me to madness, and well may alarm us.
And vengeance and hate in my heart is a-hovering;
To think that such wretches, escap'd from the clutches
Of George, our most gracious, omnipotent Sovereign,—
To see his dominions, by Paine's curst opinions,
Cut up and controul'd by mechanics and farmers;
Without noble blood, and bespattered with mud,—
It drives me to madness, and well may alarm us.
O, England! thou glory and pride of a Tory!
Blest country, where riches and rank have the pref'rence;
Where crowds at the sound of “My Lord” kiss the ground,
Or sink, in his presence, with honour and rev'rence.
Where are you now, rabble, that dare not to babble,
Are ty'd neck and heels at the nod of their judges;
For all without riches are ignorant wretches,
Ordained to believe, and submit to be drudges.
Blest country, where riches and rank have the pref'rence;
Where crowds at the sound of “My Lord” kiss the ground,
Or sink, in his presence, with honour and rev'rence.
Where are you now, rabble, that dare not to babble,
Are ty'd neck and heels at the nod of their judges;
For all without riches are ignorant wretches,
Ordained to believe, and submit to be drudges.
But here, gracious heav'n! what insults are given!
Birth, title, and blood, they compare to diseases;
At lordship or grace they'll laugh in your face,—
Each claims to believe, read, and speak, as he pleases.
No chance, here, of starving the crowd undeserving
Of carpenters, shoemakers, printers, and binders;
Each saucy-fac'd cur bellows—“How d'ye do, sir;”
I answer—“------,” and show them my grinders.
Birth, title, and blood, they compare to diseases;
At lordship or grace they'll laugh in your face,—
Each claims to believe, read, and speak, as he pleases.
No chance, here, of starving the crowd undeserving
Of carpenters, shoemakers, printers, and binders;
Each saucy-fac'd cur bellows—“How d'ye do, sir;”
I answer—“------,” and show them my grinders.
From courts and elections let's sweep the whole faction;
There's nought can be done while these lynxes are watching;
They prowl so for prey, that scarcely a day
But some thief of a Tory they're eternally catching.
Of honest Tom Pickering what squalling and bickering,
Some few tons of Joes all the breach of his trust is:
For scarce half-a-million to call a man villain!—
O tempora mores! what monstrous injustice!
There's nought can be done while these lynxes are watching;
They prowl so for prey, that scarcely a day
But some thief of a Tory they're eternally catching.
Of honest Tom Pickering what squalling and bickering,
Some few tons of Joes all the breach of his trust is:
For scarce half-a-million to call a man villain!—
O tempora mores! what monstrous injustice!
Confound Johnny Adams, his X Y and madams,
His tubs and alarms, and his itch to be doing;
Like Endor's old hag let the cat out the bag,
And raised up a spirit that threatens our ruin.
Henceforth, let us try to be cautious and sly,
And screw ourselves in again smoothly and civil;
Then each in his place, with one coup-de-grace
Let's send each Democrat dog to the Devil.
His tubs and alarms, and his itch to be doing;
Like Endor's old hag let the cat out the bag,
And raised up a spirit that threatens our ruin.
369
And screw ourselves in again smoothly and civil;
Then each in his place, with one coup-de-grace
Let's send each Democrat dog to the Devil.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |