Saturday, April 6, 2013

The Music of Early America Part 5 (Revolutionary War M-P)

The Music of Early America Part 5

(Revolutionary War M-P)

"March of the Cameron Men"

I hear the pibroch sounding sounding
Deep o'er the mountain and glen
While light springing footsteps are trampling the heath
'Tis the march o' the Cameron men
'Tis the march, 'tis the march
'Tis the march o' the Cameron men

There's many a man o' the Cameron clan
That has followed his chief to the field
He is sworn to support him or die by his side
For a Cameron never can yield

Oh bravely they march but each Cameron knows
He may tread on the heather no more
But bravely he follows his chief to the field
Where his laurels were gathered before

The moon has arisen it shines on that path
Now trod by the gallant and true
High high are their hopes for their chieftain has said
That whatever men dare they can do


There's many a man of the Cameron clan. 
That has follow'd his chief to the field; 
He has sworn to support him, or die by his side. 
For a Cameron never can yield. 

Chorus: I hear the pibroch sounding, sounding, 
Deep o'er the mountain and glen, 
While light springing footsteps are trampling the heath, 
'Tis the march of the Cameron men, 
'Tis the march, 'tis the march, 
'Tis the march of the Cameron men. 

The moon has arisen, it shines on that path, 
Now trod by the gallant and true; 
High, high are their hopes, for their chieftain hath said 
That whatever men dare they can do.


Oh, proudly they walk, but each Cameron know 
He may tread on the heather no more; 
But boldly he follows his chief to the field, 
Where his laurels were gather'd before.


"Maryland Resolves" 1774


On Calvert's plains new faction reigns, 

Great Britain we defy, sir, 

True liberty lies gagg'd in chains, 

Though freedom is the cry, sir. 

The Congress, and their factious tools, 

Most wantorily oppress us, 

Hypocrisy triumphant rules, 

And sorely does distress us. 

The British bands with glory crown'd, 

No longer shall withstand us; 

Our martial deeds loud fame shall sound 
Since mad Lee now commands us. 

Triumphant soon a blow he'll strike, 
That all the world shall awe, sir, 
And General Gage, Sir Perseus like, 
Behind his wheels he'll draw, sir. 

When Gallic hosts, ungrateful men, 
Our race meant to extermine, 
Pray did committees save us then, 
Or Hancock, or su"ch vermin? 

Then faction spurn! think for yourselves! 
Your parent state, believe me, 
From real griefs, from factious elves, 
Will speedily relieve ye.

"Masonic Song" 1781

("God Save the King")


By sacred influence hurl’d,

From chaos rose the world,

Great will of Jove.

Grand architect supreme,

Fountains of wisdom stream,

Receive our humble theme,

 Duty and love.

Tis by the will of heaven

Kings to command are given,

George we proclaim.

Chant in full song his praise,

May such deeds crown his days,

As will through ages raise,

A deathless name.

Jehovah we implore
Peace to his realms restore,
Grant that his reign
Tyranny may destroy,
While we with rapture cry,
The King shall then enjoy
His own again.

"Massachusetts to Virginia"
By John Greenleaf Whittier
("The Harp that Once Through Tara's Halls")


The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way,

Bears greetings to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay;

No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugles peal,

Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horseman's steel.

No trains of deep-mouthed cannon along our highways go;
Around our silent arsenals untrodden lies the snow;
And to the land-breeze of our ports, upon their errand far,
A thousand sails of commerce swell, but none are spread for war.

We hear thy threats, Virginia! Thy stormy words and high
Swell harshly on the Southern winds that melt along our sky;
Yet not one brown, hard hand foregoes its honest labor there,
No hewer of our mountain oaks suspends his axe in fear.

Wild are the waves which lash the reefs along St. George's Bank;
Cold on the shores of Labrador the fog lies white and dank;
Through storm, and wave, and blinding mist, stout are the hearts which man
The fishing-smacks of Marblehead, the sea-boats of Cape Ann.

The cold north light and wintry sun glare on their icy forms,
Bent grimly over the straining lines or wrestling with the storms;
Wild as the winds they drive before, rough as the waves they roam,
They laugh to scorn the Slaver's threat against their rocky home.

What means the Old Dominion? Hath she forgot the day
When o'er her conquered valleys swept the Briton's steel array?
How, side by side with sons of here, the Massachusetts men
Encountered Tarleton's charge of fire, and stout Cornwallis, then?

Forgets she how the Bay State, in answer to the call
Of her old House of Burgesses, spoke out from Faneuil Hall?
When, echoing back her Henry's cry, came pulsing on each breath
Of Northern winds the thrilling sounds of "Liberty or Death!"

What asks the Old Dominion? If now her sons have proved 
False in their father's memory, false to the faith they loved;
If she can scoff at Freedom, and its great charter spurn,
Must we of Massachusetts from truth and duty turn?

We hunt your bondmen, flying from Slavery's hateful hell;
Our voices, at your bidding, take up the bloodhound's yell;
We gather, at your summons, above our father's graves,
From Freedom's holy altar-horns to tear your wretched slaves?

Thank God! Not yet so vilely can Massachusetts bow;
The spirit of her early time is with her even now;
Dream not because her Pilgrim blood moves slow, and calm, and cool,
She thus can stoop her chainless neck, a sister's slave and tool!

All that a sister State should be, all that a free State may,
Heart, hand, and purse we proffer, as in our early day;
But that one dark, loathesome burden ye must stagger with alone
And reap the bitter harvest which ye yourselves have sown! 

Hold, while ye may, your struggling slaves, and burden God's free air
With woman's shriek beneath the lash, and manhood's wild despair;
Cling closer to the "cleavin curse" that writes upon your plains
The blasting of Almighty wrath against a land of chains.

Still shame your gallant ancestors, the Cavaliers of old,
By watching round the shambles where human flesh is sold;
Gloat o'er the new-born child, and count its market value, when
The maddened mother's cry of woe shall pierce the slaver's den!

Lower than a plummet soundeth, sink the Virginian name,
Plant, if ye will, your father's graves, with rankest weeds of shame;
Be, if you will, the scandal of God's fair universe;
We wash our hands forever of your sin, and shame, and curse!

A voice from lips whereon the soul from Freedom's shrine hath been
Thrilled, as but yesterday, the hearts of Berkshire's mountain men;
The echoes of that solemn voice are sadly lingering still
In all our sunny valleys, on every wind-swept hill.

And when the prowling man-thief came hunting for his prey.
Beneath the very shadow of Bunker's shaft of gray,
How, through the free lips of the son, the father's warning spoke!
How, from its bonds of trade and sect, the Pilgrim city broke!

A hundred thousands right arms were lifted up on high,
A hundred thousands voices sent back their loud reply;
Through the throned towns of Essex the startling summons rang,
And up from bench and loom and wheel her young mechanics sprang!

From rich and rural Worcester, where through the clam repose
Of cultured vales and fringing woods the gentle Nashua flows,
To where Wachusett's wintry blasts the mountain larches stir
Swelled up to Heaven the thrilling cry of "God save Latimer!" 

And sandy Barnstable rose up, wet with the salt and spray,
And Bristol sent her answering shout down Narragansett Bay!
Along the broad Connecticut old Hampden felt the thrill,
And the cheer of Hampshire's woodmen rang out from Holyoke Hill!

The voice of Massachusetts! Of her free sons and daughters!
Deep calling unto deep aloud, the sound of many waters!
Against the burden of that voice what tyrant power shall stand?

Look to it well, Virginians! It calmness we have borne,
In answer to our faith and trust, your insult end your scorn,
You've spurned our kindest counsels―you've hunted for our lives,
And shaken round our hearths and homes your manacles and gyves!

We wage no war―we lift no arm―we fling no torch within
The fire-lamp of the quaking mine beneath your soil of sin;
We leave ye with your bondmen, to wrestle, while ye can,
With the strong upward tendency and godlike soul of man!

But for us and for our children, the vow that we have given

For Freedom and Humanity, is registered in Heaven:



"Men of Harlech"


Sons of valor, taste the glories, Of Celestial Liberty, 

Sing a Triumph o'er the Tories, Let the pulse of joy bear high. 

Heaven this day hath foil'd the many Fallacies of George their king, 

Let the echo reach Britan'y, Bid her mountain summits ring. 

See yon Navy swell the bosom, Of the late enraged sea, 

Where e'er they go we shall oppose them, Sons of valour must be free. 

Should they touch at fair Rhode-Island, There to combat with the brave, 

Driven, from each hill, and high-land, They shall plough the purple wave. 

To Carolina or to Georg'y, Should they next advance their fame, 
This land of heroes shall disgorge the Sons of tyranny and shame. 

Like Satan banished from Heaven, Never see the smiling shore, 
From this land so happy, driven, Never stain its bosom more. 

War, fierce war, shall break their forces; Nerves of Tory men shall fail, 
Seeing Howe, with alter'd courses, Bending to the Western gale. 

Thus from every bay of ocean Flying back with sails unfurl'd, 
Toss'd with ever-troubled motion, They shall quit this smiling world.

"Miller of the Dee"


There was once a jolly miller

Lived on the River Dee,

He danced and sang from morn till night,

No lark so blithe as he;

And this the burden of his song

For ever used to be -

'I care for nobody, no not I,

If nobody envies me.'

I live by my mill, God bless her!

She is kindred, child and wife,

I would not change my station

For any other in life;

No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor

E'er had a groat from me -
'I care for nobody, no not I,
If nobody envies me.'

When spring begins his merry career,
Oh! how his heart grows gay.
No summer's drought alarms his fears,
Nor winter's cold decay.

No foresight mars the miller's joy.
Who's wont to sing and say -
'Let others toil from year to year,
I live from day to day.

Then, like the miller, bold and free,
Let us rejoice and sing;
The days of youth are made for glee,
And time is on the wing.

This song shall pass from me to thee
Along the jovial ring,
With heart and voice let all agree
To say, 'Long live the King.'

"Nathan Hale" 1776

Execution of patriot Nathan Hale by the British, 1776

THE breezes went steadily thro' the tall pines,

A saying" oh! hu-ush!" a saying "oh! hu-ush!"

As stilly stole by a bold legion of horse,

For Hale in the bush, for Hale in the bush.

"Keep still!" said the thrush as she nestled her young,

In a nest by the road; in a nest by the road.

"For the tyrants are near, and with them appear,

What bodes us no good, what bodes us no good."

The brave captain heard it, and thought of his home,

In a cot by the brook; in a cot by the brook
With mother and sister and memories dear,
He so gaily forsook; he so gaily forsook.

Cooling shades of the night were coming apace,
The tattoo had beat; the tattoo had beat.
The noble one sprang from his dark lurking place,
To make his retreat; to make his retreat.

He warily trod on the dry rustling leaves,
As he pass'd thro' the wood; as he pass'd thro' the wood;
And silently gain'd his rude launch on the shore,
As she play'd with the flood; as she play'd with the flood.

The guards of the camp, on that dark, dreary night,
Had a murderous will; had a murderous will.
They took him and bore him afar from the shore,
To a hut on the hill; to a hut on the hill.

No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer,
In that little stone cell; in that little stone cell.
But he trusted in love, from his father above.
In his heart, all was well; in his heart, all was well

An ominous owl with his solemn base voice,
Sat moaning hard by; sat moaning hard by.
The tyrant's proud minions most gladly rejoice,
"For he must soon die; for he must soon die."

The brave fellow told them, no thing he restrain'd,
The cruel gen'ral; the cruel gen'ral.
His errand from camp, of the ends to be gain'd,
And said that was all; and said that was all.

They took him and bound him and bore him away,
Down the hill's grassy side; down the hill's grassy side.
'Twas there the base hirelings, in royal array,
His cause did deride; his cause did deride.

Five minutes were given, short moments, no more,
For him to repent; for him to repent;
He pray'd for his mother, he ask'd not another,
To Heaven he went; to Heaven he went.

The faith of a martyr, the tragedy shew'd,
As he trod the last stage; as he trod the last stage.
And Britons will shudder at gallant Hale's blood,
As his words do presage, as his words do presage.

"Thou pale king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go frighten the slave, go frighten the slave;
Tell tyrants, to you, their allegiance they owe.
No fears for the brave; no fears for the brave."

"A New Ballad" 1779

Rouse, Britons! at length,

And put forth your strength,

Perfidious France to resist,

Ten Frenchmen will fly,

To shun a black eye,

If an Englishman doubles his fist.

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

But if they feel stout,

Why let them turn out,

With their maws stuff 'd with frogs, soups, and jellies; 

Brave Hardy's sea thunder,
Shall strike them with wonder,
And make the frogs leap in their bellies!

For their Dons and their ships,
We care not three skips
Of a flea - and their threats turn into jest, O!
We'll bang their bare ribs,
For the infamous fibs,
Cramm'd into their fine manifesto.

Our brethren so frantic,
Across the Atlantic,
Who quit their old friends in a huff;
In spite of their airs,
Are at their last prayers,
And of fighting have had quantum suff.

Then if powers at a distance,
Should offer assistance,
Say boldly, "we want none, we thank ye,"
Old England's a match,
And more for old scratch,
A Frenchman, a Spaniard, a Yankee!

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

Choctaws, Chickasaws, and Catawbas,
Are all engaged to fight us;
Keep off you Mynheers with your yaws,
And England's gun shall right us.

We don't mind Monsieur's copper lace,
Nor solemn Don in cloak;
Once let us meet them face to face,
And fighting is no joke.

Three cheers for England's weal we give,
And pour the broadside in;
The wretch that is not fit to live,
To kill can be no sin.

"A New Song" 1770

("Castle Island Song" or "You Simple Bostonians")

You simple Bostonians, I'd have you beware,

Of your Liberty Tree, I would have you take care,

For if that we chance to return to the town,

Your houses and stores will come tumbling down.

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

If you will not agree to Old England's laws,

I fear that King Hancock will soon get the yaws

But he need not fear, for I swear we will,

For the want of a doctor give him a hard pill.

A brave reinforcement, we soon think to get;
Then we will make you poor pumpkins to sweat:
Our drums they'll rattle, and then you will run
To the devil himself, from the sight of a gun.

Our fleet and our army, they soon will arrive,
Then to a bleak island, you shall not us drive.
In every house, you shall have three or four,
And if that will not please you, you shall have half a score. 
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

"A New Song" 1775

by J. W. Hewlings

("American Hearts of Oak")


Come rouse up my lads, and join this great cause,

In defence of your liberty, your property, and laws!

'Tis to honor we call you, stand up for your right,

And ne'er let our foes say, we are put to the flight.

For so just is our cause, and so valiant our men,

We always are ready, steady boys, steady;

We'll fight for our freedom again and again.

The Scotch politicians have laid a deep scheme,
By invading America to bring Charlie in;
And if the Scotch mist's not remov'd from the throne, 
The crown's not worth wearing, the kingdom's undone.

The placemen, and commoners, have taken a bribe
To betray their own country, and the empire beside
And though the colonies stand condemned by some, 
There are no rebels here, but are traitors at home.

The arbitrary minister, he acts as he please,
He wounds our constitution, and breaks through our laws
His troops they are landed, his ships they are moor'd,
But boys all stand together, they will fall by the sword.

The great Magna Charta is wounded severe;
By accounts from the doctors, 'tis almost past cure.
Let's defend it with the sword, or die with the braves,
For we had better die in freedom, than live and be slaves.

They tax us contrary to reason and right,
Expecting that we are not able to fight;
But to draw their troop home, I do think would be best, 
For Providence always defends the oppress'd.

The valiant Bostonians have enter'd the field,
And declare they will fall there before they will yield;
A noble example ! In them we'll confide,
We'll march to their town, stand or fall by their side.

An union through the colonies will ever remain,
And ministerial taxation will be but in vain,
For we are all resolvèd to die or be free
So they may repeal the acts, for repeal'd they must be.

"A New Song" 1776

("Collinet and Phebe")


As Collinet and Phebe sat,

Beneath a poplar grove,

The gentle youth, with fondest truth,

Was telling tales of love.

Dear blooming maid, the shepherd said,
My tender vows believe,
These downcast eyes, and artless sighs,
Can ne'er thy faith deceive.

Though some there are, from fair to fair,
Delighting wild to rove,
Such change, thou ne'er, from me canst fear,
Thy charms secure my love.

Then Phebe now, approve my vow,
By truth, by fondness press'd;
A smile assume to grace thy bloom,
And make thy shepherd bless'd.

A blush o'erspread her cheek with red,
Which half she turn'd aside;
With pleasing woes, her bosom rose,
And thus the maid replied

Dear gentle youth, I know thy truth,
And all thy arts to please;
But ah ! is this a time for bliss,
Or themes as soft as these?

While all around, we hear no sound,
But war's terrific strains !
The drum commands our arming bands,
And chides each tardy swain.

Our country's call, arouses all,
Who dare be brave and free!
My love shall crown the youth alone,
Who saves himself and me.

'Tis done ! he cried, from thy dear side,
Now quickly I'll be gone;
From love will I, to freedom fly,
A slave to thee alone.

And when I come with laurels home,
And all that freemen crave,
To crown my love, your smiles shall prove,
The fair reward the brave.

"A New Song" 1779

("Yankee Doodle")

The Frenchmen came upon the coast,

Our great allies, and they did boast,

They soon would bang the British host,

Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.

D'Estaing he wrote to General Lincoln,

And told him that he need not think on

Danger, but in quick step march down.

Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.

So Lincoln came down to Savannah,

The French and we all sung hosanna,
We soon will take them every man-a.
Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.

Then Maitland came just in the nick,
Or we'd have shown them such a trick,
As would have made them very sick.
Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.

But soon we found ourselves mistaken,
And were glad to save our bacon,
Rather than be killed or taken.
Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.

We thought to take the enemy,
But we, alas! were forced to fly,
We may do better by and by.
Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.

The French, it's true, behav'd quite civil,
Yet we wish'd them to the devil,
And hope that good may spring from evil.
Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa

And now that they on board are gone,
Have left poor us here all alone,
We've nought to do but sigh and moan.
Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, Pa.

The enemy must keep their post,
In spite of all the Gallic host,
And Georgia we've for ever lost.
Doodle doodle do, pa, pa, pa, pa, pa.

"A New War Song" 1776

by Sir Peter Parker

("Sir Peter Parker" or "Sullivan's Island")
Sir Peter Parker BT 1721-1811 
Admiral of the Fleet, 1799
Sir Peter Parker Attack Against Fort Moultrie


My Lords, with your leave, 

An account I will give, 

That deserves to be written in meter: 

For the rebels and I, Have been pretty nigh. 

Faith almost too nigh for Sir Peter. 

With much labor and toil, Unto Sullivan's Isle, 

I came firm as Falstaff or Pistol, 

But the Yankees, 'od rot 'em, I could not get at 'em: 

Most terribly maul'd my poor Bristol. 

Bold Clinton by land, Did quietly stand, 

While I made a thundering clatter; 

But the channel was deep. So he only could peep, 
And not venture over the water. 
De'il take 'em, their shot Came so swift and so hot. 
And the cowardly dogs stood so stiff, sirs! 

That I put ship about. And was glad to get out, 
Or they would not have left me a skiff, sirs! 
Now bold as a Turk, I proceed to New York' 
Where with Clinton and Howe you may find me. 

I've the wind in my tail. And am hoisting my sail, 
To leave Sullivan's island behind me. 
But my Lords, do not fear, For before the next year. 
Although a small island could fret us, 

The Continent whole.
We shall take, by my soul, 
If the cowardly Yankees will let us.

"New Years Day" 1781

OH! old England, old England
And oh ! the New Year's day;
Such a new year as this
A blind man would gladly see.
How we go up, up, up, etc.

Now we are at a dead stop,
And so we sink deeper and deeper,
Little Georgey's as sound as a top,
And his Primy's an excellent sleeper.

Oh! the navy, the navy,
Of Britain the safety and boast;
Lord Twitcher has kept it so safely,
Our foes on the seas rule the roast.

Here's an inferior fleet,
With an admiral wrapt up in flannel;
By which we're insulted abroad,
And with which we sneak into the channel.

But oh! how we hurried and scurried,
Our cowardly enemies scorning;
There we run away over night,
And there we waited till morning.

Parliaments squabble and gabble,
Ministers wonder and stare;
Armies march backwards and forwards,
Americans stand as they were,

But oh! how bloody and stout,
Struts the commander-in-chief;
He's as sharp as a snipe at the snout,
And lacks nothing but wisdom and beef.

This lord bids him go up,
That lord makes him run down,
T'other drives him first backwards and forwards,
And a fourth makes him skip and turn round.

With such mighty armies and fleets,
With commanders and ministers true;
We bully all kingdoms and states,
Tho' to beat one we cannot tell how.
But so we go up, up, up, etc.

As for our credit and wealth,
The pride and the strength of John Bull;
The nation's as poor as myself,
Tho' Lord North swears his budget's quite full.
So we go up, up, up, etc.

Oh ! for a gibbet and block,
Oh ! for a hatchet and cleaver;
How well would a home-hit stroke,
Prove a just and a kind reliever.

Then would old England go up,
Instead of going down, down-a;
We're tired of backwards and forwards,
'Tis time that things were turn'd round-a.

Then would we lop 'em and crop 'em,
Bring traitors at once to a level;
The junta should lead up the dance,
And the others the way to the devil.
Then would old England go up, etc.

At court we make snuffers and buttons,
Great folks must have something to do;
Bully Bagshot cures drunkards and gluttons,
The king gallops from Windsor to Kew.
See him tit up a tit up, etc.

Oh! religion, religion,
I mean to be seriously grave,
Archbishops and bishops raise Papists,
The Protestant cause for to save.

So we go up, up, up, etc.

See Murray and Wedderburne both,
O'er our lives and our fortunes preside;
And its lucky for England, in troth,
No such lawyers are bred south of Tweed.
So we go up, up, up, etc.

So we're abolish'd, demolish'd,
Yet no man stands up for his right;
But, my friends, while the kingdom's on fire,
The Scots make their way by the light.
Then help old England up,
And knock all her enemies down,
Let us join as all Englishmen ought,
'Tis time that things were turn'd round.

"Nottingham Ale"



Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he

He called for his pipe, he called for his glass  
And he called for his fiddlers three
Every fiddler got a fine fiddle  
And a very fine fiddle had he

Fedle ledle dee, went the fiddlers
Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his Fife and his Fifers three
And fife's the fife went the fifers.
Every fifer got a fine fife 
And a very fine fife had he

Fedle dedle dee, went the fifer
Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his harp and he called for his harpers three
Every harper had a fine harp and a jolly fine harp had he

Twang, twang, twang went the harper,
Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his drumm and he called for his drummers three
Every drummer had a fine drum and a jolly fine drum had he

Thump, thump, thump went the drummer,
Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his cobler and he called for his coblers three
Every cobbler had a fine knowle and a jolly fine knowle had he,
Bore the holes in the sole of the boot said the cobbler,

Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his tailor and he called for his tailors three
Every tailor had a needle and a jolly fine needle had he
Stitch along the tail of the coat said the tailor,

Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his painter and he called for his painters three
Every painter had a brush and a jolly fine brush had he
Slap it up and down the door said the painter,

Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

Old King Cole was a merry old soul 
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his parson and he called for his parsons three
Every parson had a big book and a jolly big book had he
Lord have mercy on us said the Parson
Slap it up and down the door said the painter,
Stitch along the tail of the coat said the tailor,

Bore the holes in the sole of the boot said the cobbler,
Thump, to, thump, to, thump, to went the drummer,
Twang, to, twang, to, twang to, went the harper,
And fife's the fife went the fifiers
Feedle deedle dee, went the fiddlers

Merry we shall be, there's none so rare,
That can compare with the sons of Harmonee

"The Old Man's Song" 1778

("Public Spirit of the Women")

Though age at my elbow has taken his stand,

And Time has stretch'd o'er me his wrinkling hand;

Our patriot fair like a charm can inspire,

In three-score-and-ten, twenty's spirit and fire.

Boy, fill me a bumper ! as long as I live,

The patriot fair for my toast must I give;

Here's a health to the sex of every degree,

Where sweetness and beauty with firmness agree.

No more will I babble of times that are past,

My wish is, the present for ever may last;
Already I see sulky George in despair,
Should he vanquish the men, to vanquish the fair. 1

Of Greeks and of Romans enough has been said,
To Codrus and Brutus full tribute been paid;
O'er musty old heroes no longer I'll dream,
Living beauty and virtue enliven my theme.

Could time be roll'd backward, and age become young, 
My heart swell with ardor, my arm be new strung;
Under Washington's banner I'd cheerfully fight,
Where the smiles of the fair with glory unite.

Fill a bumper again boy, and let it go round,
For the waters of youth in claret are found;
The younkers shall know, I've the courage to dare
Drink as deep as the best to the patriot fair.

"On General Wayne's Taking Stoney Point"


July they say, the fifteenth day, In glittering arms arrayed, 

That gen'ral Wayne and his brave men The British lines essayed; 

Just twelve at night, if I am right, And honestly informed, 

Both wings at once they did advance, And Stoney Point they stormed. 

With ascents steep, morasses deep, This boasted place abounded, 

Strong abettees, of forked trees, Were doubly plac'd around it; 

"In this strong place the rebel race Us never dare come nigh, sir, 

Great Washington, and all his train, I, Johnson do defy, sir." 

But mark the fate of Johnson's hate, How quickly he was humbled, 
When light'ning like, bold Wayne did strike, His pride and glory tumbled: 

See Fleury brave the standard wave, Which strongly was defended, 
And from his foes, 'midst of their blows, Most gallantly did rend it. 

Let Stewart's name in books of fame For ever be recorded, 
Through show'rs of balls he scaled their walls, And danger disregarded; 

O'er stones and rocks heroic Knox To charge the foe he pushed, 
In gallant fight, with eagle's flight, O'er their strong ramparts rushed. 

And Gibsons, gas as chearful May, His duty well discharged, 
he dealt his foes such deadly blows, That left their walls unguarded. 

May war's alarms still rouse to arms The gallant sons of bra'vry, 
Who dare withstand a tyrant's band, And crush infernal slav'ry.

"On Independence" 1776

Come all you brave soldiers, both valiant and free,

It's for Independence we all now agree;

Let us gird on our swords, and prepare to defend,

Our liberty, property, ourselves and our friends.

In a cause that's so righteous, come let us agree,

And from hostile invaders set America free,

The cause is so glorious we need not to fear,

But from merciless tyrants we'll set ourselves clear.

Heaven's blessing attending us, no tyrant shall say,

That Americans e'er to such monsters gave way,
But fighting we'll die in America's cause,
Before we'll submit to tyrannical laws.

George the Third, of Great Britain, no more shall he reign,
With unlimited sway o'er these free States again,
Lord North, nor old Bute, nor none of their clan,
Shall ever be honor'd by an American.

May Heaven's blessings descend on our United States, 
And grant that the union may never abate;
May love, peace, and harmony, ever be found,
For to go hand in hand America round.

Upon our grand Congress may Heaven bestow,
Both wisdom and skill our good to pursue;
On Heaven alone dependent we'll be,
But from all earthly tyrants we mean to be free.

Unto our brave Generals may Heaven give skill,
Our armies to guide, and the sword for to wield,
May their hands taught to war, and their fingers to fight, 
Be able to put British armies to flight.

And now, brave Americans, since it is so,
That we are independent, we'll have them to know,
That united we are, and united we'll be,
And from all British tyrants we'll try to keep free.

May Heaven smile on us in all our endeavors
Safe guard our seaports, our towns, and our rivers, 
Keep us from invaders by land and by sea,
And from all who'd deprive us of our liberty.

"Our Women" 1780

ALL hail! superior sex, exalted fair,
Mirrors of virtue, Heaven's peculiar care;
Form'd to enspirit and enoble man
The immortal finish of Creation's plan!

Accept the tribute of our warmest praise
The soldier's blessing and the patriot's bays!
For fame's first plaudit we no more contest
Constrain'd to own it decks the female breast.

While partial prejudice is quite disarm'd,
And e'en pale envy with encomiums charm'd,
Freedom no more shall droop her languid head,
Nor dream supine on sloth's lethargic bed.

No more sit weeping o'er the veteran band,
Those virtuous, brave protectors of her land;
Who, nobly daring, stem despotic sway,
And live the patriot wonders of the day.

For lo! these sons her glorious work renew,
Cheer'd by such gifts, and, smiles, and pray'rs from you!
More precious treasure in the soldier's eye
Than all the wealth Potosi's mines supply.

And now ye sister angels of each state,
Their honest bosoms glow with joy elate,
Their gallant hearts with gratitude expand
And trebly feel the bounties of your hand.

And wing'd for you their benedictions rise,
Warm from the soul and grateful to the skies
Nor theirs alone th' historian patriots fir'd,
Shall bless the generous virtue you've inspir'd.

Invent new epithet to warm their page,
And bid you live admired from age to age;
With sweet applauses dwell on every name,
Endear your memories and embalm your fame,

And thus the future bards shall soar sublime,
And waft you glorious down the stream of time;
The breeze of panegyric fill each sail,
And plaudits pure perfume the increasing gale.

Then freedom's ensign thus inscribed shall wave,
"The patriot females who their country save;"
Till time's abyss absorb'd in heavenly lays,
Shall flow in your eternity of praise.

"A Parody" 1775

("A Parody on the Banks of the Dee")


Twas winter, and blue tory noses were freezing,

As they march'd o'er the land where they ought not to be;

The valiants complain'd at the fifers' curs'd wheezing, 

And wish'd they'd remain'd on the banks of the Dee. 

Lead on thou paid captain! tramp on thou proud minions! 

Thy ranks, basest men, shall be strung like ripe onions, 

For here thou hast found heads with warlike opinions, 

On the shoulders of nobles who ne'er saw the Dee.

Prepare for war's conflict; or make preparation
For peace with the rebels, for they're brave and glee; 
Keep mindful of dying, and leave the foul nation
That sends out its armies to brag and to flee.
Make haste, now, and leave us thou miscreant tories! 
To Scotland repair! there court the sad houris,
And listen once more to their plaints and their stories 
Concerning the "glory and pride of the Dee."

Be quiet and sober, secure and contented:
Upon your own land, be valiant and free;
Bless God, that the war is so nicely prevented,
And till the green fields on the banks of the Dee.
The Dee then will flow, all its beauty displaying,
The lads on its banks will again be seen playing,
And England thus honestly taxes defraying,
With natural drafts from the banks of the Dee.

"The Parody Parodized" 1768

("Massachusetts Liberty Song" or "Hearts of Oak")

Come swallow your bumpers, ye tories, and roar,

That the sons of fair Freedom are hamper'd once more; 

But know that no cut-throats our spirits can tame,

Nor a host of oppressors shall smother the flame.

In freedom we're born, and, like sons of the brave,

We'll never surrender,

But swear to defend her,

And scorn to survive, if unable to save.

Our grandsires, blest heroes! we'll give them a tear,

Nor sully their honors, by stooping to fear;
Thro' deaths and thro' dangers, their trophies they won, 
We dare be their rivals, nor will be outdone.

Let tyrants and minions presume to despise,
Encroach on our rights, and make freedom their prize: 
The fruits of their rapine they never shall keep;
Tho' vengeance may nod, yet how short is her sleep!

The tree, which proud Haman for Mordecai rear'd, 
Stands recorded, that virtue endanger'd is spar'd,
That rogues whom no bonds and no laws can restrain, 
Must be stript of their honors, and humbled again.

Our wives and our babes, still protected, shall know, 
Those who dare to be free, shall for ever be so;
On these arms and these hearts they may safely rely, 
For in freedom we'll live, or like heroes we'll die.

Ye insolent tyrants! who wish to enthrall
Ye minions, ye placemen, pimps, pensioners, all,
How short is your triumph! how feeble your trust !
Your honors must wither and nod to the dust.

When oppress'd and reproach'd, our king we implore, 
Still firmly persuaded our rights he'll restore;
When our hearts beat to arms, to defend a just right,
Our monarch rules there, and forbids us to fight.

Not the glitter of arms, nor the dread of a fray,
Could make us submit to their chains for a day;
Withheld by affection, on Britons we call, -
Prevent the fierce conflict which threatens your fall!

All ages shall speak, with amaze and applause,
Of the prudence we show in support of our cause; 
Assur'd of our safety, a Brunswick still reigns,
Whose free loyal subjects are strangers to chains.

Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all!
To be free is to live, to be slaves is to fall;
Has the land such a dastard, as scorns not a lord,
Who dreads not a fetter much more than a sword.

In freedom we're born, and, like sons of the brave,
We'll never surrender,
But swear to defend her,
And scorn to survive, if unable to save.

"A Parody Upon A Well-Known Liberty Song" 1768

("Heart of Oak" or "Come Shake Your Dull Noddles")


Come shake your dull noddles, ye pumpkins, and bawl, 

And own that you're mad at fair Liberty's call; 

No scandalous conduct can add to your shame, 

Condemn to dishonor, inherit the fame. 

In folly you're born, and in folly you'll live, 

To madness still ready. 

And stupidly steady, 

Not as men, but as monkeys, the tokens you give. 

Your grandsire, old Satan, now give him a cheer. 
Would act like yourselves, and as wildly would steer:
So great an example in prospect still keep. 
Whilst you are alive. Old Belza may sleep. 

Such villains, such rascals, all dangers despise, 
And stick not at mobbing when mischief's the prize; 
They burst thro' all barriers, and piously keep 
Such chattels and goods the vile rascals can sweep. 

The Tree, which the wisdom of justice hath rear'd. 
Should be stout for their use, and by no means be spar'd: 
When fuddled with rum the mad sots to restrain. 
Sure Tyburn will sober the wretches again. 

Your brats and your hunters by no means forget. 
But feather your nests, for they're bare enough yet; 
From the insolent rich sure the poor knave may steal, 
Who ne'er in his life knew the scent of a meal. 

When in your own cellars you've quaff'd a regale. 
Then drive, tug and, the next house to assail; 
For short is your harvest, nor long shall you know 
The pleasure of reaping what other men sow. 

TJien plunder, my lads, for when red-coats appear, 
You'll melt like the locust Avhen winter is near ; 
Gold vainly will glow, silver vainly will shine. 
But, faith, you must skulk, you no more shall purloin. 

Then nod your poor numskulls, ye pumpkins, and bawl. 
The de'il take such rascals, fools, whoresons and all; 
Your cursed old trade of purloining must cease, 
The dread and the curse of all order and peace. 

All ages shall speak with contempt and amaze, 
Of the vilest banditti that swarm'd in these days; 
In defiance of halters, of whips and of chains, 
The rogues would run riot, — fools for their pains. 

Gulp down your last dram, for the gallows now groans, 
And, over depress'd, her lost empire bemoans; 
While we quite transported and happy shall be. 
From mobs, knaves and villains, protected and free.

"Paul Jones"

John Paul Jones by Charles Willson Peale, c1781


It's of an American frigate, from New York she came,

She mounted forty guns, called Massachusetts by name,

A-crossing the channel of old England's fame,

With her saucy commander - Paul Jones was his name.

We had not been sailing long before we spies,

A large forty four, and a twenty likewise:

"Come answer me quickly, I've hailed you before,

Or else a broadside into you I will pour."

We fought them four glasses, four glasses so hot,

Till fourteen dead seamen lay dead on the spot,

And twenty five lay wounded, all covered with gore,

While the guns from proud Paul Jones like thunder did roar.

Our carpenter being frightened, to Paul Jones did say -
"Our ship she makes water since fighting today."
The up spoke proud Paul Jones, in the height of his pride -
"If we cannot do better boys, we'll sink alongside."

And now my brave fellows, we have taken a rich prize,
Here's a large forty four and a twenty likewise;
God help every poor widow that has reason to weep,
For the loss of her dear sons in the ocean so deep.

"Paul Jones' Victory"


An American frigate, a frigate of fame, 

With guns mounting forty, the Richard by name, 

Sail’d to cruise in the channels of old England, 

With a vallant commander, Paul Jones was the man. 

CHORUS: Hurrah! Hurrah! 

Our country forever, Hurrah! 

We had not cruised long, before he espies 

A large forty four, and a twenty likewise; 

Well mann’d with bold seamen, well laid in with stores, 
In consort to drive us from old England’s shores. 


About twelve at noon Pearson came alongside, 
With a loud speaking trumpet, “Whence came you?” he cried; 
“Return me an answer— I hail’d you before, 
Or if you do not, a broadside I’ll pour.” 


Paul Jones then said to his men, every one, 
“Let every true seaman stand firm to his gun! 
We’ll receive a broadside from the bold Englishman, 
And like true Yankee sailors, return it again.” 


The contest was bloody, both deck ran with gore, 
And the sea seemed to blaze, while the cannon did roar; 
“Fight on, my brave boys,” then Paul Jones he cried, 
“And soon we will humble this bold Englishman’s pride.” 


Stand firm to your quarters— your duty don’t shun, 
The first one that shrinks, through the body I’ll run; 
Though their force is superior, yet they shall know, 
What true, brave American seamen can do.” 


The battle rolled on, till bold Pearson cried: 
“Have you yet struck your colors? then come alongside!” 
But so far from thinking that the battle was won, 
Brave Paul Jones replied, “I’ve not yet begun!” 


We fought them eight glasses, eight glasses so hot, 
Till seventy bold seamen lay dead on the spot. 
And ninety brave seamen lay stretched in their gore, 
While the pieces of cannon most fiercely did roar. 


Our gunner, in great fright to Captain Jones came, 
“We gain water quite fast and our sides in a flame;” 
Then Paul Jones said in the height of his pride, 
“If we cannot do better, boys, sink alongside!” 


The Alliance bore down, and the Richard did rake, 
Which caused the bold hearts of our seamen to ache; 
Our shot flew so hot that they could not stand us long, 
And the undaunted Union of Britain came down. 


To us they did strike and their colors haul down; 
The fame of Paul Jones to the world shall be known; 
His name shall rank with the gallant and brave, 
Who fought like a hero our freedom to save. 


Now all valiant seamen where’er you may be, 
Who hear of the combat that’s fought on the sea, 
May you all do like them, when called for the same, 
And your names be enrolled on the pages of fame. 


Your country will boast of her sons that are brave, 
And to you she will look from all dangers to save; 
She’ll call you dear sons, in her annals you’ll shine, 
And the brows of the brave with green laurels entwine. 


So now, my brave boys, have we taken a prize— 
A large forty four, and a twenty likewise! 
Then God bless the mother whose doom is to weep 
The loss of her sons in the ocean so deep.

"The Pausing American Loyalist"

To sign, or not to sign? 

That is the question, 

Whether 'twere better for an honest man 

To sign, and so be safe; or to resolve, 

Betide what will, against associations,

And, by retreating, shun them. 

To fly-- I reck 

Not where: 

And, by that flight, t' escape

Feathers and tar, and thousand other ills 

That loyalty is heir to: 

'Tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. 

To fly-- to want-- 
To want? 
Perchance to starve: 
Ay, there's the rub!
For, in that chance of want, what ills may come 
To patriot rage, when I have left my all--
Must give me pause: --
There's the respect 
That makes us trim, and bow to men we hate. 
For, who would bear th' indignities o' th' times,
Congress decrees, and wild convention plans, 
The laws controll'd, and inj'ries unredressed,
The insolence of knaves, and thousand wrongs 
Which patient liege men from vile rebels take,
When he, sans doubt, might certain safety find, 
Only by flying? 
Who would bend to fools, 
And truckle thus to mad, mob-chosen upstarts, 
But that the dread of something after flight
(In that blest country, where, yet, no moneyless 
Poor wight can live) puzzles the will,
And makes ten thousands rather sign-- and eat. 
Than fly -- to starve on loyalty.--
Thus, dread of want makes rebels of us all: 
And thus the native hue of loyalty
Is sicklied o'er with a pale cast of trimming; 
And enterprises of great pith and virtue,
But unsupported, turn their streams away, 
And never come to action.

"The Pennsylvania Song" 1775
("The Pennsylvania March" or"Sandy O'er The Lea")

We are the troops that ne'er will stoop 

To wretched slavery; 

Nor shall our seed, by our base deed, 

Despised vassals be. 

Freedom we will bequeath them, 

Or we will bravely die; 

Our greatest foe, e'er long shall know 

How much did Sandwich lie. 

And all the world shall know, 
Americans are free, 
Nor slaves nor cowards we will prove, 
Great Britain soon shall see. 

We'll not give up our birth-right, 
Our foes shall find us men 
As good as they in any shape, 
The British troops shall ken. 

Hurra brave boys, we'll beat them, 
On any hostile plain; 
For freedom, wives, and children dear, 
The battle we'll maintain. 

What! Can those British Tyrants think 
Our fathers crossed the mam; 
And savage foes and dangers met, 
To be enslaved by them? 

If 'so they are mistaken, 
For we will rather die; 
And since they have become our foes, 
Their forces we defy.

"The Pine Tree"
by John Greenleaf Whittier

("The Road to Mandalay")
Early Colonial Coin: “Pine-Tree” Shilling
Lift again the stately emblem on the Bay State's rusted shield, 

Fling to Northern winds the Pine Tree on her banner's tattered field. 

Sons of men who sat in council, with their Bibles at their board, 

Answering England's royal missives with a firm "Thus Saith the Lord!" 

Rise again for here and freedom, set the battle in array! 

That the fathers did of old time, so their sons must do today!

Tell us not of banks and tariffs, amuse your paltry pedlar cries!

Shall the good State sink her honor that your gambling stocks may rise? 
Would you barter rum for cotton? That your gains may be the same, 
What to kiss the feet of Moloch, pass our children through the flame? 
Is the dollar only real? Truth and love and right a dream? 
Weighed against your lying ledgers, must our manhood kick the beam?

Oh, my God, for that free spirit, which of old in Boston town
Struck the Province House with terror, smote the crest of Andros down!
For another strong-voiced Adams, through the city's streets to cry:
"Up for right and Massachusetts! Set your foot on Mammon's lie!
Perish banks and perish traffic, spin your cotton's latest pound,
But in Heaven's name keep your honor, keep the heart o' the Bay State sound!"

Where's the man for Massachusetts? Where's the voice to speak her free?
Where's the hand to light up bonfires from her mountains to the sea?
Beats her Pilgrim pulse no longer? Sots she dumb in her despair?
Has she none to break the silence? Has she none to do and dare?
Oh, my God, for one right worthy, to lift up her rusted shield,
And to plant again the Pine Tree in her banner's battered field!

"Poor Old Tory"
("Rogues March")


I left my home and I left my job

Went and joined the army

If I knew then what I know now

I wouldn't have been so barmy.

Chorus: Poor old soldier, poor old soldier

If I knew then what I know now
I wouldn't have been so barmy.

Gave me a gun and a big red coat
Gave me lots of drilling
If I knew then what I know now
I wouldn't have took the shilling.

Sent me off on a real old boat
By Christ she was no beauty
Far far across the sea we went
Afore to do my duty

Fought the Russians, or was it the French
Really couldn't tell, sir
All I know is they fought so hard
They sent us all to hell, sir.


When we got back home again
To desert was my intent, sir
I sold my cot and I sold my coat
And over the wall I went, sir.


Went to a tavern and I got drunk
That is where they found me
Back to barracks in chains I was sent
And there they did impound me.

Fifty I got for selling me coat

Fifty for me blankets

If ever I 'list for a soldier again

The devil shall be me sergeant.

"A Prayer" 1776
("Common Prayer for the Times")
George Washington at Valley Forge


Since we are taught in Scripture word

To pray for friends and foes;

Then let us pray for George the Third,

Who must be one of those.

Heaven bless America, and Britain,

May folly past suffice,

Wherein they have each other smitten,

Who ought to harmonize.

Allied by blood, and interest too,
Soon let them re-unite,
May Heaven tyrannic minds subdue,
Haste, haste the pleasing sight.

May ev'ry morn and ev'ning prayer
Repeat this just petition,
What thinking Christian can forbear,
Appris'd of our condition.

Britannia's sins are our worst foes,
Let this be Britain's creed,
For those who God and man oppose,
Must rebels be indeed.

This rebel-host how num'rous grown !
This growth kind Heaven forbid !
'Tis fear'd some are too near the throne,
And seem securely bid.

Just Heaven, to light all rebels bring,
Who hate or love the steeple.
Rebels to God, and to the king,
And rebels to the people.

"The Present Age" 1779


Of all the ages ever known, 

The present is the oddest; 

For all the men are honest grown, 

And all the women modest. 

Nor lawyers now are fond of fees, 

Nor clergy of their dues;

No idle people now one sees, 

At church no empty pews. 

No courtiers now their friends deceive 

With promises of favor; 

For what they made 'em once believe, 

Is done and done for ever. 

Our nobles - Heaven defend us all! 

I'll nothing say about 'em;

For they are great and I'm but small, 

So muse, jog on without 'em. 

Our gentry are a virtuous race, 
Despising earthly treasures; 
Fond of true honor's noble chase, 
And quite averse to pleasures. 

The ladies dress so plain indeed, 
You'd think 'em Quakers all, 
Witness the wool packs on their heads, 
So comely and so small. 

No tradesman now forsakes his shop, 
For politics or news; 
Or takes his dealer at a hop, 
Through interested views. 

No soaking sot forsakes his spouse, 

For mugs of mantling nappy;

Nor taverns tempt him from his house, 

Where all are pleas'd and happy. 

Our frugal taste the State secures, 
Whence then can woes begin? 
For luxury's turn'd out of doors, 
And prudence taken in. 

From hence proceeds th' abundant flow, 
Of plenty through the land; 
Where all provisions all men know, 
Are cheap on ev'ry hand. 

No pleasure - chaises fill the streets, 

Nor crowd the roads on Sunday; 

So horses ambling thro' the week, 

Obtain a respite one day. 

All gaming, tricking, swearing, lying, 
Is grown quite out of fashion; 
For modern youth's so self-denying, 
It flies all lawless passion. 

Happy the nation thus endow'd! 
So void of wants and crimes; 
Where all are rich and none are proud, 
Oh! these are glorious times. 

Your characters (with wondering stare 
Cries Tom) are mighty high, sir; 
But pray forgive me, if I swear, 
I think they're all a lie, sir. 

Ha! think you so, my honest clown? 
Then take another light on't; 
Just turn the picture upside down, 
I fear you'll see the right on't.

"The Proclamation" 1777

("Burgoyne's Proclamation")


And grac'd with titles still more higher, 1

For I'm Lieutenant-general, too,

Of George's troops both red and blue,

On this extensive continent;

And of Queen Charlotte's regiment

Of light dragoons the Colonel;

And Governor eke of Castle Wil -

And furthermore, when I am there,

In House of Commons I appear,

[Hoping ere long to be a Peer.]
Being a member of that virtuous band
Who always vote at North's command;
Directing too the fleet and troops
From Canada as thick as hops;
And all my titles to display,
I'll end with thrice et cetera.

The troops consign'd to my command
Like Hercules to purge the land,
Intend to act in combination
With th' other forces of the nation,
Displaying wide thro' every quarter
What Britain's justice would be after.
It is not difficult to show it,
And every mother's son must know it,
That what she meant at first to gain
By requisitions and chicane,
She's now determin'd to acquire
By kingly reason; sword and fire.

I can appeal to all your senses,
Your judgments, feelings, tastes and fancies;
Your ears and eyes have heard and seen,
How causeless this revolt has been;
And what a dust your leaders kick up;
In this rebellious civil hickup,
And how, upon this curs'd foundation,
Was rear'd the system of vexation
Over a stubborn generation.

But now inspired with patriot love
I come th' oppression to remove;
To free you from the heavy clog
Of every tyrant demagogue.
Who for the most romantic story,
Claps into limbo loyal Tory,
All hurly burly, hot and hasty,
Without a writ to hold him fast by;
Nor suffers any living creature,
[Led by the dictates of his nature,]
To fight in green for Britain's cause,
Or aid us to restore her laws;
In short, the vilest generation
Which in vindictive indignation,
Almighty vengeance ever hurl'd
From this to the infernal world.

A Tory cannot move his tongue,
But whip, in prison he is flung,
His goods and chattels made a prey.
By those vile mushrooms of a day,
He's tortur'd too, and scratch'd and bit,
And plung'd into a dreary pit;
Where he must suffer sharper doom,
Than e'er was hatched by Church of Rome.
These things are done by rogues, who dare
Profess to breathe in Freedom's air.
To petticoats alike and breeches
Their cruel domination stretches,
For the sole crime, or sole suspicion
[What worse is done by th' inquisition?]
Of still adhering to the crown,
Their tyrants striving to kick down,
Who by perverting law and reason,
Allegiance construe into treason.
Religion too is often made
A stalking horse to drive the trade,
And warring churches dare implore,
Protection from th' Almighty pow'r;
They fast and pray: in Providence
Profess to place their confidence;
And vainly think the Lord of all
Regards our squabbles on this ball;
Which would appear as droll in Britain
As any whim that one could hit on;
Men's consciences are set at naught,
Nor reason valued at a groat;
And they that will not swear and fight,
Must sell their all, and say good night.

By such important views there pres't to,
I issue this my manifesto.
I, the great knight of de la Mancha,
Without 'Squire Carleton, my Sancho,
Will tear you limb from limb asunder,
With cannon, blunderbuss and thunder;
And spoil your feathering and your tarring;
And cagg you up for pickled herring.
In front of troops as spruce as beaux,
And ready to lay on their blows,
I'll spread destruction far and near;
And where I cannot kill, I'll spare,
Inviting, by these presents, all,
Both young and old, and great and small,
And rich and poor, and Whig and Tory,
In cellar deep, or lofty story;
Where'er my troops at my command
Shall swarm like locusts o'er the land.
(And they shall march from the North Pole
As far, at least, as Pensacole,)
So break off their communications,
That I can save their habitations;
For finding that Sir William's plunders,
Prove in the event apparent blunders,
It is my full determination,
To check all kinds of depredation;
But when I've got you in my pow'r,
Favor'd is he, I last devour.

From him who loves a quiet life,
And keeps at home to kiss his wife,
And drinks success to king Pigmalion,
And calls all Congresses Rabscallion,
With neutral stomach eats his supper,
Nor deems the contest worth a copper;
I will not defalcate a groat,
Nor force his wife to cut his throat;
But with his doxy he may stay,
And live to fight another day;
Drink all the cider he has made,
And have to boot, a green cockade.
But as I like a good Sir Loin,
And mutton chop whene'er I dine,
And my poor troops have long kept Lent,
Not for religion, but for want,
Whoe'er secretes cow, bull or ox,
Or shall presume to hide his flocks;
Or with felonious hand eloign
Pig, duck, or gosling from Burgoyne,
Or dare to pull the bridges down,
My boys to puzzle or to drown;
Or smuggle hay, or plough, or harrow,
Cart, horses, wagons or wheelbarrow;
Or 'thwart the path, lay straw or switch,
As folks are wont to stop a witch,
I'll hang him as the Jews did Haman;
And smoke his carcase for a gammon.
I'll pay in coin for what I eat,
Or Continental counterfeit.
But what's more likely still, I shall
(So fare my troops,) not pay at all.

With the most Christian spirit fir'd,
And by true soldiership inspir'd,
I speak as men do in a passion
To give my speech the more impression.
If any should so harden'd be,
As to expect impunity,
Because procul a fulmine,
I will let loose the dogs of Hell,
Ten thousand Indians, who shall yell,
And foam and tear, and grin and roar,
And drench their moccasins in gore;
To these I'll give full scope and play
From Ticonderog to Florida;
They'll scalp your heads, and kick your shins,
And rip your -----, and flay your skins,
And of your ears be nimble croppers,
And make your thumbs tobacco-stoppers.
If after all these loving warnings,
My wishes and my bowels' yearnings,
You shall remain as deaf as adder,
Or grow with hostile rage the madder,
I swear by George, and by St. Paul
I will exterminate you all.
Subscrib'd with my manual sign
To test these presents, John Burgoyne.

"A Prophecy" 1779
("The Old Year and the New")


What though last year be past and gone,

Why should we grieve or mourn about it?

As good a year is now begun,

And better too, let no one doubt it.

'Tis New-Year's morn; why should we part!

Why not enjoy what heaven has sent us?

Let wine expand the social heart,

Let friends, and mirth, and wine content us.

War's rude alarms disturb'd last year;
Our country bled and wept around us;
But this each honest heart shall cheer,
And peace and plenty shall surround us.

Last year king Congo, through the land,
Display'd his thirteen stripes to fright us;
But George's power, in Clinton's hand,
In this new year shall surely right us.

Last year saw many honest men,
Torn from each dear and sweet connection,
But this shall see them home again,
And happy in their king's protection.

Last year vain Frenchmen brav'd our coasts,
And baffled Howe, and scap'd from Byron;
But this shall bring their vanquish'd hosts,
To crouch beneath the British Lion.

Last year rebellion proudly stood,
Elate, in her meridian glory;
But this shall quench her pride in blood;
George will avenge each martyr'd tory.

Then bring us wine, full bumpers bring;
Hail this new year in joyful chorus;
God bless great George, our gracious king,
And crush rebellion down before us.

"The Prophetic Egg" 1777


Britannia sinks beneath her crimes, 
She dies - she dies - let empire rise,

And freedom cheer the western skies.

When every art and menace fails, 
And Tory lies and Tory tales,

Are universally abhorr'd, 
They now pretend to fear the Lord.

Instead of virtue, a long face; 
Instead of piety, grimace;

Pretend strange revelation give, 

And intimation sent from Heaven.

To carry on the schemes of Bute, 
A speaking egg they substitute.

A strange phenomenon indeed, 
The stratagem must sure succeed;

And every mortal die with fear, 
When they the sad prediction hear.

The egg was laid without the tent, 

Ergo, it was from Heaven sent.

The egg was found within a barn, 
Ergo, from it, we surely learn,

When eggs can speak what fools indite, 

And hens can talk as well as write,
When crocodiles shed honest tears, 
And truth with hypocrites appears;

When every man becomes a knave, 
And feels the spirit of the slave;
And when veracity again, 
Shall in a Tory's bosom reign;

When vice is virtue, darkness light, 
And freemen are afraid to fight;
When they forget to play the men, 
And with the spirit of a hen,

Desert the just and sacred cause; 
And opening Heaven smiles applause
On such a bloody, barbarous foe, 
Then I'll be conquered by a Howe.