Saturday, April 6, 2013

The Music of Early America Part 6 (Revolutionary War R-S)

The Music of Early America Part 6

(Revolutionary War R-S)

"Rakes of Mallow"

"The Rallying Song"

"The Rebels" 1778

("Black Joak")

A watercolor painting depicting a variety of Continental Army soldiers by Lefferts

Ye brave, honest subjects, who dare to be loyal,

And have stood the brunt of every trial,

Of hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns:

Come listen awhile, and I'll sing you a song;

I'll show you, those Yankees are all in the wrong,

Who, with blustering look and most awkward gait, 

'Gainst their lawful sovereign dare for to prate,

With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.

The arch-rebels, barefooted tatterdemalions,

In baseness exceed all other rebellions,

With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.

To rend the empire, the most infamous lies,

Their mock-patriot Congress, do always devise;

Independence, like the first of rebels, they claim,

But their plots will be damn'd in the annals of fame,

With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.

Forgetting the mercies of Great Britain's king,

Who saved their forefathers' necks from the string;
With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.
They renounce allegiance and take up their arms,
Assemble together like hornets in swarms,
So dirty their backs, and so wretched their show,
That carrion-crow follows wherever they go,
With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.

With loud peals of laughter, your sides, sirs, would crack,
To see General Convict and Colonel Shoe-black,
With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.
See cobblers and quacks, rebel priests and the like,
Pettifoggers and barbers, with sword and with pike,
All strutting, the standard of Satan beside,
And honest names using, their black deeds to hide.
With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.

This perjured banditti, now ruin this land,
And o'er its poor people claim lawless command,
With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.
Their pasteboard dollars, prove a common curse,
They don't chink like silver and gold in our purse;
With nothing their leaders have paid their debts off,
Their honor's, dishonor, and justice they scoff,
With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.

For one lawful ruler, many tyrants we've got,
Who force young and old to their wars, to be shot,
With their hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.
Our good king, God speed him ! never usèd men so,
We then could speak, act, and like freemen could go;
But committees enslave us, our Liberty's gone,
Our trade and church murder'd; our country's undone,
By hunting-shirts, and rifle-guns.

Come take up your glasses, each true loyal heart,
And may every rebel meet his due desert,
With his hunting-shirt, and rifle-gun.
May Congress, Conventions, those damn'd inquisitions, 

Be fed with hot sulphur, from Lucifer's kitchens,
May commerce and peace again be restored,
And Americans own their true sovereign lord.
Then oblivion to shirts, and rifle-guns. 
God save the King.

"The Recess" 1779

("Yankee Doodle")


And now our Senators are gone

To take their leave of London,

To mourn how little they have done,

How much they have left undone!

Heaven bless 'em in their summer seats,

And grant their neighbors stare at

The long recounting of their feats,

Though wond'ring much what they're at!

Bless'd be the times when men may do,

What no one comprehendeth

May boast of deeds that all must rue,

Nor judge where nonsense endeth!

One year, with half ten thousand men,

We swallow all our foes up;

The next, the times are turn'd, and then

Old England's scale light goes up.

But still with courage and with glee,
New laws we must be framing;
With paper and with parchment, we
The savages art taming.

We swear the transatlantic folks
Shall all obey our orders;
While they turn all we do to jokes,
And cry out, "guard your borders."

Well, then, we'll go to war with France
Yes - no - we must - we mustn't;
John Bull shall teach Monsieur to dance

But can't - and there's the curse on't.
What's to be done? - we'll end the jar -
But how ? - Ah! there's the devil - 
'Tis easier to provoke a war
By far, than cure the evil.

We trust you'll nearer hit the point
When you shall meet next winter;
And if you cannot set the joint,
Be sure reduce the splinter.

"Refugee Song" 1779
("Heart of Oak")

Here's a bumper, brave boys, to the health of our king

Long may he live, and long may we sing,

In praise of a monarch who boldly defends

The laws of the realm, and the cause of his friends.

CHORUS: Then cheer up my lads, we have nothing to fear,

While we are steady and always keep ready

To add to the trophies of this happy year.

The Congress did boast of their mighty ally,

But George does both France and the Congress defy;

And when Britons unite, there's no force can withstand

Their fleets and their armies, by sea and on land. 


Thus supported, our cause we will ever maintain,

And all treaties with rebels will ever disdain;

Till reduced by our arms, they are forced to confess,

While ruled by Great Britain they ne'er knew distress.


Then let us, my boys, Britain's rights e'er defend
Who regards not her rights, we esteem not our friend;
Then, brave boys, we both France and the Congress defy
And we'll fight for Great Britain and George till we die.


"The Revolutionary Alphabet"


A is for Americans who never will be slaves.

B's for Boston's bravery which ever freedom saves

C is for the congress, which though loyal will be free.

D is for defense against all force and tyranny.

Chorus: Stand Firmly A to Z we swear, forever to be free.

E is for the evils which a civil war must bring

F is for a dreadful fate for people and for king

G's for George may heaven, give him wisdom, health, and grace.

H is for the Hypocrites, who wear the double face.

Chorus: Stand firmly A to Z we swear, forever to be free.

J's for justice which the traitors now in power defy

K's the king again to should to such the axe apply

L's for London where he sits, to honor ever true.

M's for Mansfield to who it seems doth hold another view.

"The Rich Lady Over the Sea"
File:Boston Tea Party Currier colored.jpg
Boston Tea Party by Currier
("Revolutionary Tea")

There was a rich lady lived over the sea,

And she was an island queen,

Her daughter lived off in the new country,

With an ocean of water between.

With an ocean of water between.

With an ocean of water between.

The old lady's pockets were filled with gold,

Yet never contented was she,

So she ordered her daughter to pay her a tax,

Of thruppence a pound on the tea.

Of thruppence a pound on the tea.

Of thruppence a pound on the tea.

Oh mother, dear mother, the daughter replied,

I'll not do the thing that you ask,

I'm willing to pay fair price on the tea,

But never the thruppenney tax.

But never the thruppenney tax.

But never the thruppenney tax.

You shall, cried the mother, and reddened with rage,
For you're my own daughter, you see,
And it's only proper that daughter should pay
Her mother's a tax on the tea.
Her mother's a tax on the tea.
Her mother's a tax on the tea.

She ordered her servant to come up to her,
And to wrap up a package of tea.
And eager for thruppence a pound she put in
Enough for a large family.
Enough for a large family.
Enough for a large family.

The tea was conveyed to her daughter's own door,
All down by the oceanside,
But the bouncing girl poured out ever pound
On the dark and the boiling tide.
On the dark and the boiling tide.
On the dark and the boiling tide.

And then she called out to the island queen,
Oh mother, dear mother, called she,
Your tea you may have when 'tis steeped enough,
But never a tax from me!
But never a tax from me!
But never a tax from me!

"Riflemen Of Bennington"
General Stark leading the American attack 
on the redoubt at the Battle of Bennington

Why come ye hither, Redcoats, your mind what madness fills?

In our valleys there is danger, and there's danger in our hills.

Oh, hear ye not the singing of the bugle wild and free?

Full soon you'll know the ringing of the rifle from each tree.

CHORUS: For the rifle, oh, the rifle,

In our hands will prove no trifle.

Ye ride a goodly steed, ye may know another master;

Ye forward came with speed, but you'll learn to back much faster.

Then you'll meet our Mountain Boys and their leader Johnny Stark,

Lads who make but little noise, but who always hit the mark.


Have ye no graves at home, across the briny waters,

That hither ye must come like bullocks to the slaughter?

If we the work must do, why, the sooner 'tis begun,

If flint and powder hold but true, the sooner 'twill be done.


"Rivington's Reflections"

"Road To Boston"


Tuppence I got for selling me cloak,

Tuppence for selling me blanket.

If ever I ‘list for a soldier again,

Devil shall be me sergeant.

Poor old soldier, poor old soldier,

If ever I ‘list for a soldier again,
Devil shall be me sergeant.

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.


"The Rolling Hills of the Border"

"The Rose Tree"
("A Rose Tree in Full Bearing")


A Rose tree in full bearing, 

Had sweet flowers fair to see, 

One rose beyond comparing, 

For beauty attracted me.

Tho' eager once to win it, 

Lovely blooming fresh and gay; 

I find a canker in it. 

And now throw it far away.

How fine this morning early, 

All was Sun shine clear and bright.

So late I lov'd you dearly, 

Tho' lost now each fond delight.

The clouds seem big with showers,

Sunny beams no more are seen,

Farewell ye happy hours, 

Your falshood has chang'd the scene

"Rosin the Beau"


I've traveled this world over,

And now to another I'll go,

For I know that good quarters are waiting,

To welcome old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus: To welcome old Rosin the Beau,

To welcome old Rosin the Beau,

For I know that good quarters are waiting

To welcome old Rosin the Beau.

When I'm dead and laid out on the counter

A voice you will hear from below,

Crying out, "Whisky and water,

To drink to old Rosin the Beau."


And when I am dead, I reckon,

The ladies will want to, I know,

Just lift the lid off the coffin,

And look at old Rosin the Beau.


Then get a full dozen stout fellows,
And stand them all round in a row,
And drink out half gallon bottles
To the name of old Rosin the Beau.


Then get half a dozen young fellows
And let them all staggering go,
And dig a great hole in the meadow,
And in it toss Rosin the Beau.


Then get you a couple of tombstones,
Put one at my head and my toe,
And do not fail to scratch on it,
The name of old Rosin the Beau.


I feel that great tyrant approaching,
That cruel, implacable foe,
That spares neither age nor condition,
Not even old Rosin the Beau.


Rule Britannia


When Britain first, at heaven’s command,

Arose from out the azure main,

Arose, arose, arose from out the azure main.

This was the charter, the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang the strain.

Chorus: Rule Britannia!
Britannia rule the waves.
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee,
Must in their turn to tyrants fall,
Must in their turn, must in their turn,
To tyrants fall,
While thou shall flourish,
Shall flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.


Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke.
More dreadful, more dreadful
From each foreign stroke.
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.


Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame,
All their attempts to bend thee down,
All their attempts, all their attempts
To bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame.
But work their woe and thy renown.


To thee belongs the rural reign,
Thy cities shall with commerce shine,
Thy cities shall, thy cities shall
With commerce shine.
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.


The muses still, with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair,
Shall to thy happy coast,
Thy happy coasts repair,
Best isle of beauty,
With matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.


"The Sailor's Address"

Come listen my cocks to a brother and friend, 

One and all to my song gallant sailors attend, 

Sons of Freedom ourselves, let's be just as we're brave 

Nor America's freedom attempt to enslave.

CHORUS: Firm as oak are our hearts, where true glory depends, 

Steady, boys, steady,   
We'll always be ready 

To fight all our foes, not to murder our friends. 

True glory can ne'er in this quarrel be won,   
If New England we conquer, Old England's undone; 

On brethren we then should assist to fix chains,   
For the blood of Great Britain flows warm in their veins. 


Shall courtier's fine speeches prevail to divide 

Our affection for those who have fought by our side? 

And who often have joined us to sink in the main 

The proud, boasting navies of France and of Spain. 


Near relations of some who at Court now do -thrive, 

The Pretender did join in the year forty-five. 

And many in favor, disguised with foul arts, 

While they roar out for George, are for James in their hearts. 


Of such men as these let us scorn to be tools, 
Dirty work to perform-do they take us for fools? 
Brave sailors are wiser than thus to be bamm'd. 
Let them turn out themselves, lads, and fight and be d--d. 

To the ground may disputes with our Colonies fall, 
And George long in splendor reign king of us all; 
And may those who would set the two lands by the ears, 
Be put in the bilboes, and brought to the jeers. 

CHORUS: Firm as oak are our hearts, where true glory depends, 
Steady, boys, steady,   
We'll always be ready 
To fight all our foes, not to murder our friends. 

"The Sailor's Invitation"

Come all ye lads that know no fear, To wealth and honor we will steer 
In the Hyder-Ally privateer, Commanded by bold Barney. 

She's new and true, and tight and sound, Well rigged aloft and all well found— 
Come and be with laurel crown 'd— Away and leave your lasses!

Accept our terms without delay. And make your fortunes while you may, 
Such offers are not every day In the power of the jolly sailor.

Success and fame attend the brave But death the coward and die slave — 
Who fears to plough the Atlantic wave To seek out bold invaders?

Come then and take a cruising bout— Our ship sails well, there is no doubt; 
She has been tried both in and out, And answers expectation.

Let no proud foes that Britain bore Distress our trade, insult our shore— 
Teach them to know their reign is o'er, Bold Philadelphia sailors! 

Well teach them not to sail so near. Or venture on the Delaware, 
When we in war-like trim appear, And cruise without Henlopen. 

Who cannot wounds and battle dare. Shall never clasp the blooming fair; 
The brave alone their charms shall share. The brave, and their protectors! 

With hand and heart united all Prepared to conquer or to fall. 
Attend ray lads to honor's call— Embark in our Hyder-Ally! 

From an Eastern Prince she takes her name. Who smit with freedom's sacred flame. 
Usurping Britons brought to shame. His country's wrongs avenging.

See on her stem the brilliant stars— Inured to blood, inured to wars. 
Come, enter quick, my jolly tars. To scourge these haughty Britons.

Here's grog enough! then drink a bout! I know your hearts are firm and stout, 
American blood will ne'er give out— And often we have proved it! 

Though stormy oceans round us roll, We'll keep a firm undaunted soul, 
Befriended by the cheering bowl. Sworn foes to melancholy! 

While timorous landsmen lurk on shore 'Tis ours to go where cannons roar- 
On a coasting cruise we'll go once more, Despisers of all danger. 

And fortune still that crowns the brave Shall guard us o'er the gloomy wave— 
A fearful heart betrays the knave! Success to the Hyder-Ally.

"Saratoga Song" 1777

("A Song for the Red-Coats"/"North Campaign"/"Gates' Song")


Come unto me ye heroes Whose hearts are true and bold,

Who value more your honor, Than others do their gold;

Give ear unto my story, And I the truth will tell, 

Concerning many a soldier, Who for his country fell.

Burgoyne, the king's commander,  From Canada set sail,

With full eight thousand reg'lars,  He thought he could not fail;

With Indians and Canadians,  And his curs'd Tory crew,

On board his fleet of shipping,  He up the Champlain flew.

Before Ticonderoga,  The first day of July,

Appear'd his ships and army,  And, we did them espy.

Their motions we observèd,  Full well both night and day,
And our brave boys preparèd,  To have a bloody fray

Our garrison they viewed them,  And straight their troops did land,

And when St. Clair, our chieftain,  The fact did understand,

That they the Mount Defiance  Were bent to fortify,

He found we must surrender,  Or else prepare to die.

The fifth day of July, then,  He ordered a retreat,

And when next morn we started,  Burgoyne thought we were beat.

And closely he pursued us,  Till when near Hubbardton,
Our rear guards were defeated,  He thought the country won.

And when 'twas told in Congress,  That we our forts had left,
To Albany retreated,  Of all the North bereft;
Brave General Gates they sent us,  Our fortunes to retrieve,
And him with shouts of gladness,  The army did receive.

Where first the Mohawk's waters,  Do in the sunshine play,
For Herkimer's brave soldiers,  Sellinger 2 ambush'd lay;
And them he there defeated,  But soon he had his due,
And scared by Brooks and Arnold,  He to the north withdrew.

To take the stores and cattle,  That we had gather'd then,
Burgoyne sent a detachment  Of fifteen hundred men;
By Baum they were commanded,  To Bennington they went;
To plunder and to murder,  Was fully their intent.

But little did they know then,  With whom they had to deal,
It was not quite so easy,  Our stores and stock to steal;
Bold Stark would give them only,  A portion of his lead;
With half his crew ere sunset,  Baum lay among the dead.

The nineteenth of September,  The morning cool and clear,
Brave Gates rode through our army,  Each soldier's heart to cheer;
"Burgoyne," he cried, "advances,  But we will never fly;
No - rather than surrender,  We'll fight him till we die."

The news was quickly brought us,  The enemy was near,
And all along our lines then  There was no signs of fear;
It was above Stillwater  We met at noon that day,
And every one expected  To see a bloody fray.

Six hours the battle lasted,  Each heart was true as gold,
The British fought like lions,  And we like Yankees bold;
The leaves with blood were crimson,  And then brave Gates did cry -
"Tis diamond now cut diamond!  We'll beat them boys or die."

The darkness soon approaching,  It forced us to retreat,
Into our lines till morning,  Which made them think us beat;
But ere the sun was risen,  They saw before their eyes,
Us ready to engage them,  Which did them much surprise.

Of fighting they seem weary,  Therefore to work they go,
Their thousand dead to bury,  And breastworks up to throw;
With grape and bombs intending  Our army to destroy,
Or from our works our forces  By stratagem decoy.

The seventh day of October,  The British tried again,
Shells from their cannons throwing,  Which fell on us like rain;
To drive us from our stations,  That they might thus retreat;
For now Burgoyne saw plainly,  He never could us beat.

But vain was his endeavor  Our men to terrify;
Though death was all around us,  Not one of us would fly.
But when an hour we'd fought them,  And they began to yield,
Along our lines the cry ran,  The next blow wins the field!"

Great God, who guides their battles,  Whose cause is just and true,
Inspire our bold commander,  The course he should pursue.
He ordered Arnold forward,  And Brooks to follow on;
The enemy was routed !  Our liberty was won !

Then burning all their luggage,  They fled with haste and fear,
Burgoyne with all his forces,  To Saratogue did steer;
And Gates, our brave commander,  Soon after him did hie,
Resolving he would take them,  Or in the effort die.

As we came nigh the village,  We overtook the foe;
They'd burned each house to ashes,  Like all where'er they go.
The seventeenth of October,  They did capitulate,
Burgoyne and his proud army,  Did we our pris'ners make.

Now, here's a health to Arnold,  And our commander Gates,
To Lincoln and to Washington,  Whom every Tory hates;
Likewise unto our Congress,  God grant it long to reign;
Our Country, Right, and Justice,  For ever to maintain.

Now finish'd is my story,  My song is at an end;
The freedom we're enjoying  We're ready to defend;
For while our cause is righteous,  Heaven nerves the soldier's arm,
And vain is their endeavor,  Who strive to do us harm.

"Savannah Song"

"Sergeant Champe" 1780

Escape of Sergeant Champe. 

In the endeavor to carry out Washington's plan to capture Arnold and to save Andre, 1780. 

Lithograph by Currier & Ives, 1876

Come sheathe your swords! my gallant boys, And listen to the story,

How Sergeant Champe, one gloomy night, Set off to catch the tory.
You see the general had got mad, To think his plans were thwarted,
And swore by all, both good and bad, That Arnold should be carted.

So unto Lee he sent a line, And told him all his sorrow,
And said that he must start the hunt, Before the coming morrow.
Lee found a sergeant in his camp, Made up of bone and muscle,
Who ne'er knew fear, and many a year With tories had a tussle.

Bold Champe, when mounted on old Rip, All button'd up from weather,
Sang out, "good bye !" crack'd off his whip, And soon was in the heather.
He gallop'd on towards Paulus Hook, Improving every instant
Until a patrol, wide awake, Descried him in the distance.

On coming up, the guard call'd out And ask'd him, where he's going
To which he answer'd with his spur, And left him in the mowing.
The bushes pass'd him like the Wind, And pebbles flew asunder.
The guard was left far, far behind, All mix'd with mud and wonder.

Lee's troops paraded, all alive, Although 'twas one the morning,
And counting o"er a dozen or more, One sergeant is found wanting.
A little hero, full of spunk, But not so full of judgment,
Press'd Major Lee to let him go, With the bravest of his reg'ment.

Lee summon'd cornet Middleton, Expressed what was urgent,
And gave him orders how to go To catch the rambling sergeant.
Then forty troopers, more or less, Set off across the meader;
'Bout thirty-nine went jogging on A-following their leader.

At early morn, adown a hill They saw the sergeant sliding;
So fast he went, it was not ken't, Whether he's rode, or riding.
None lookèd back, but on they spurr'd, A-gaining every minute.
To see them go, 'twould done you good, You'd thought old Satan in it.

The sergeant miss'd 'em, by good luck, And took another tracing,
He turn'd his horse from Paulus Hook, Elizabethtown facing.
It was the custom of Sir Hal To send his galleys cruising,
And so it happenèd just then, That two were at Van Deusen's.

Strait unto these the sergeant went, And left old Rip, all standing,
A waiting for the blown cornet, At Squire Van Deusen's landing.
The troopers didn't gallop home, But rested from their labors;
And some 'tis said took gingerbread And cider from the neighbors.

'Twas just at eve the troopers reach'd The camp they left that morning,
Champe's empty saddle, unto Lee, Gave an unwelcome warning.
"If Champe has suffered, 'tis my fault;" So thought the generous major:
" I would not have his garment touch'd, For millions on a wager!"

"The cornet told him all he knew, Excepting of the cider.
The troopers, all, spurr'd very well But Champe was the best rider !"
And so it happen'd that brave Champe Unto Sir Hal deserted,
Deceiving him, and you, and me, And into York was flirted.

He saw base Arnold in his camp, Surrounded by the legion,
And told him of the recent prank That threw him in that region.
Then Arnold grinn'd, and rubb'd his hands, And e'enmost chok'd with pleasure,
Not thinking Champe was all the while A "taking of his measure."

Come now," says he, "my bold soldier, As you're within our borders,
Let's drink our fill, old care to kill, To-morrow you'll have orders."
Full soon the British fleet set sail ! Say ! wasn't that a pity ?
For thus it was brave Sergeant Champe Was taken from the city.

To southern climes the shipping flew, And anchored in Virginia,
When Champe escaped and join'd his friends Among the picininni.
Base Arnold's head, by luck, was sav'd, Poor Andre was gibbeted,
Arnold's to blame for Andre's fame, And Andre's to be pitied.

"Siege of Savannah" 1779

("About Savannah")


Come let us rejoice, With heart and with voice, 

Her triumphs let loyalty show, sir, 

While bumpers go round, Re-echo the sound, 

Huzza for the king and Prevost, sir. 

With warlike parade, And his Irish brigade, 

His ships and his spruce Gallic host, sir, 

As proud as an elf, D'Estaing came himself, 

And landed on Georgia's coast, sir. 

There joining a band, Under Lincoln's command,
Of rebels and traitors and whigs, sir, 
'Gainst the town of Savannah He planted his banner, 
And then he felt wonderous big, sir. 

With thund'ring of guns, And bursting of bombs, 
He thought to have frighten'd our boys, sir. 
But amidst all their din, Brave Maitland push'd in, 
And Moncrieffe cried, "A fig for your noise," sir, 

Chagrined at delay, As he meant not to stay,

The Count form'd his troops in the morn, sir. 

Van, centre, and rear March'd up without fear, 

Cock sure of success, by a storm, sir. 

Though rude was the shock, Unmov'd as a rock, 

Stood our firm British bands to their works, sir. 

While the brave German corps, And Americans bore 

Their parts as intrepid as Turks, sir. 

Then muskets did rattle, Fierce ragèd the battle,
Grape shot, it flew thicker than hail, sir. 
The ditch fill'd with slain, Blood dyed all the plain, 
When rebels and French turnèd tail, sir. 

See! see! how they run! Lord! what glorious fun! 
How they tumble, by cannon mow'd down, sir! 
Brains fly all around, Dying screeches resound, 
And mangled limbs cover the ground, sir. 

There Pulaski fell, That imp of old Bell, 
Who attempted to murder his king, sir. 
But now he is gone, Whence he'll never return; 
But will make hell with treason to ring, Sir. 

To Charleston with fear, The rebels repair;
D'Estaing scampers back to his boats, sir, 
Each blaming the other, Each cursing his brother, 
And - may they cut each other's throats, Sir. 

Scarce three thousand men, The town did maintain, 
'Gainst three times their number of foes, sir, 
Who left on the plain, Of wounded and slain, 
Three thousand to fatten the crows, Sir. 

Three thousand! no less! For the rebels confess
Some loss, as you very well know, sir.
Then let bumpers go round, And re-echo the sound. 
Huzza for the king and Prevost, Sir. 

"Sir Henry Clinton's Invitation to the Refugees"1779

("The Invitation")
Sir Henry Clinton


Come, gentlemen tories, firm, loyal, and true, 

Here are axes and shovels, and something to do! 

For the sake of our King, Come labor and sing. 

You left all you had for his honor and glory, 

And he will remember the suffering tory. 

We have, it is true, Some small work to do; 

But here's for your pay, twelve coppers a day, 

And never regard what the rebels may say, 

But throw off your jerkins and labor away. 

To raise up the rampart, and pile up the wall, 
To pull down old houses, and dig the canal,
To build and destroy, Be this your employ, 
In the day-time to work at our fortifications, 
And steal in the night from the rebels your rations. 
The king wants your aid, Not empty parade; 
Advance to your places, ye men of long faces, 
Nor ponder too much on your former disgraces, 
This year, I presume, will quite alter your cases. 

Attend at the call of the fifer and drummer, 
The French and the rebels are coming next summer, 
And the forts we must build Though tories are killed. 
Take courage, my jockies, and work for your king, 
For if you are taken, no doubt you will swing. 
If York we can hold, I'll have you enroll'd; 
And after you're dead, your names shall be read, 
As who for their monarch both labor'd and bled, 
And ventur'd their necks for their beef and their bread. 

'Tis an honor to serve the bravest of nations, 
And be left to be hang'd in their capitulations. 
Then scour up your mortars, And stand to your quarters, 
'Tis nonsense for tories in battle to run, 
They never need fear sword, halberd, or gun; 
Their hearts should not fail 'em, No balls will assail 'em; 
Forget your disgraces, and shorten your faces, 
For 'tis true as the gospel, believe it or not, 
Who are born to be hang'd, will never be shot.

"The Soldier at Home" 1781

From noise of camps once more I come,
To snatch from care a short repose;
All hail thou tranquil much lov'd home,
That war nor dread misfortune knows.

Thus, far remov'd from hostile bands,
May'st thou heart-pleasing home remain;
Curs'd be the murderous foreign hands
That dare with blood thy bosom stain.

Oh haste, ye generous few I love,
Again in social converse join;
With me the sweets of friendship prove,
And to the winds your cares resign.

But oh ! to recollect how soon
The period comes that bids me hence;
A sadd'ning momentary gloom
Steals half my joys, and clouds my sense.

But why indulge that care-mix'd thought ?
The happy day may yet arrive,
When tyranny shall fall to nought,
And liberty alone survive.

Then with my friends in jocund mood,
I'll tell what dangers have been mine;
And how Americans have stood
At Germantown and Brandywine.

Here we'll remember martial Gates,
He taught the proud Burgoyne to yield;
Who frowning at his adverse fates,
Surrender'd on the well fought field.

Then each gay friend shall swell the tale,
With hardy deeds of bold emprise;
Again he sees our arms prevail,
And long-lost ardors now arise.

Here Howe, says he, (and marks the track,)
The British troops did proudly form;
And here with adverse lines compact,
Brave Washington did swell the storm.

'Twas here I was, and points the spot,
(As he had tracèd on the ground,)
What bursts of thunder, showers of shot,
Yet there great Washington was found.

At Monmouth's plains, where Lee retreated,
Great Washington did then push on;
Sir Harry's chosen troops defeated,
Then laugh'd his tyranny to scorn.

These happy days are yet to come,
Then why repine at such a fate;
Bear well the woe that is your doom,
And joy can never come too late.

"Soldiers Joy"

"Soldier, Soldier, Will You Marry Me?"


Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,

With your musket, fife and drum?

Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,

When I have no hat to put on?

Off to the haberdasher she did go,

As fast as she could run,

Bought him a hat, the best that was there,

And the soldier put it on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,

With your musket, fife and drum?

Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,

When I have no coat to put on?

Off to the tailor she did go,

As fast as she could run,

Bought him a coat, the best that was there,

And the soldier put it on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,

With your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
When I have no boots to put on?
Off to the cobbler she did go,
As fast as she could run,
Bought him a pair of the best that was there,
And the soldier put them on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
When I have no pants to put on?
Off to the tailor she did go,
As fast as she could run,
Bought him a pair, the best that was there,
And the soldier put them on.

Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With your musket, fife and drum?
Well, how can I marry such a pretty girl as you,
With a wife and three kids back home?

"A Soliloquy" 1779
("George the Third's Soliloquy")
King George III

Oh! blast this Congress, blast each upstart State,
On whose commands ten thousand warriors wait;
From various climes that dire assembly came,
True to their trust, yet hostile to my fame.
'Tis these, ah! these have ruin'd half my sway,
Disgrac'd my arms, and lead my realm astray.

France aids them now; I play a desperate game,
And sunburnt Spain they say will do the same,
My armies vanquish'd, and my heroes fled,
My people murmuring, and my commerce dead.
My shatter'd navy, pelted, bruis'd, and clubb'd,
By Dutchmen bullied, and by Frenchmen drubb'd.

My name abborr'd, my nation in disgrace,
What should I do in such a mournful case?
My hopes and joys are vanish'd, with my coin,
My ruined army, and my lost Burgoyne!
What shall I do, confess my labors vain,
Or whet my tusks, and to the charge again?

But where's my force, my choicest troops are fled,
Some thousands crippled, and a myriad dead;
If I were owned the stoutest of mankind,
And hell with all her rage inspired my mind;
Could I at once with France and Spain contend,
And fight the rebels on the world's green end?

Yet rogues and savage tribes I must employ,
And what I cannot conquer, will destroy.
Is there a robber close in Newgate hemm'd?
Is there a cut-throat fetter'd and condemn'd?
Haste, loyal slaves, to George's standard come,
Attend his lectures when you hear the drum.

Your chains I break, for better days prepare,
Come out, my friends, from prison and from care;
Far to the west I plan your desperate way,
There, 'tis no sin, to ravage, burn, and slay;
There, without fear, your bloody trade pursue,
And show mankind what British rage can do.

Ye daring hosts that crowd Columbia's shore,
Tremble, ye traitors ! and exult no more;
Flames I will hurl with an unceasing hand,
Till fires eternal blaze throughout your land;
And every dome and every town expires,
And traitors perish in the unfeeling fires.

But hold - though this be all my soul's desire,
Will my own towns be proof to rebel fire?
If in revenge my raging foes should come
And burn my London - it would strike me dumb
To see my children and my queen in tears,
And these tall piles come tumbling round my ears.

Curs'd be the day when first I saw the sun,
Curs'd be the hour when I this war begun;
The fiends of darkness then inspir'd my mind,
And powers unfriendly to the human kind;
My future years I consecrate to woe,
For this great loss-my soul in tears shall flow.

To wasting grief and sullen rage a prey,
To Scotland's utmost verge I take my way;
With nature's storms eternal concert keep,
And while her billows rage as fiercely weep;
Oh! let the earth my rugged fate bemoan,
And give at least one sympathizing groan.

"A Sonnet" 1783
("On Disbanding the Army")


Ye brave Columbian bands ! a long farewell!

Well have ye fought for freedom - nobly done

Your martial task - the meed immortal won -

And Time's last records shall your triumphs tell.

Once friendship made their cup of suff 'rings sweet

The dregs how bitter, now those bands must part!

Ah ! never, never more on earth to meet;

Distill'd from gall that inundates the heart,

What tears from heroes eyes are seen to start!

Ye, too, farewell, who fell in fields of gore,

And chang'd tempestuous toil for rest serene;

Soon shall we join you on the peaceful shore,

(Though gulfs irremeable roll between),

Thither by death-tides borne, as ye full soon have been.

"A Song" 1776


Smile, Massachusetts, smile, Thy virtue still outbraves
The frowns of Britain's isle, And rage of home-born slaves.
Thy free-born sons disdain their ease, When purchased by their liberties.

Thy genius, once the pride Of Britain's ancient isle,
Brought o'er the raging tide By our forefather's toil;
In spite of North's despotic power, Shines glorious on this western shore.

In Hancock's generous mind Awakes the noble strife,
Which so conspicuous shined, In gallant Sydney's life;
While in its cause the hero bled, Immortal honors crown'd his head.

Let zeal your breasts inspire; Let wisdom guide your plans;
'Tis not your cause entire, On doubtful conflict hangs;
The fate of this vast continent, And unborn millions share th' event.

To close the gloomy scenes Of this alarming day,
A happy union reigns Through wide America.
While awful wisdom hourly waits, To adorn the councils of her states.

Brave Washington arrives, Arrayed in warlike fame,
While in his soul revives Great Marlboro's martial flame,
To lead your conquering armies on To lasting glory and renown.

To aid the glorious cause, Experienc'd Lee has come,
Renown'd in foreign wars, A patriot at home.
While valiant Putnam's warlike deeds, Amongst the foe a terror spreads.

Let Britons proudly boast, "That their two thousand braves,
Can drive our numerous host, And make us all their slaves;"
While twice six thousand quake with fear, Nor dare without their lines appear.

Kind Heaven has deign'd to own Our bold resistance just,
Since murderous Gage began The bloody carnage first.
Near ten to one has been their cost, For each American we've lost.

Stand firm in your defence, Like Sons of Freedom fight,
Your haughty foes convince, That you'll maintain your right.
Defiance bid to tyrants' frown, And glory will your valor crown.

"A Song" 1777
("The Fate of John Burgoyne" or "On Gen. Burgoyne's Defeat")
Joshua Reynolds: John Burgoyne 1766


When Jack the king's commander Was going to his duty, 

Through all the crowd he smiled and bowed To every blooming beauty. 

The city rung with feats he'd done In Portugal and Flanders, 
And all the town thought he'd be crowned The first of Alexanders. 

To Hampton Court he first repair'd To kiss great George's hand, sir; 
Then to harangue on state affairs Before he left the land, sir. 
The "Lower house" sat mute as mouse To hear his grand oration; 
And "all the peers", with loudest cheers, Proclaimed him thro' the nation. 

Then off he went to Canada, Next to Ticonderoga, 
And quitting those away he goes Straightway to Saratoga. 
With great parade his march he made To gain his wished-for station, 
While far and wide his minions hied To spread his "Proclamation." 

To such as stayed he offers made Of "pardon on submission; 
But savage bands should waste the lands Of all in opposition." 
But ah, the cruel fate of war, This boasted son of Britain, 
When mounting his triumphal car, With sudden fear was smitten. 

The sons of freedom gather'd round, His hostile band confounded, 
And when they'd fain have turn'd their backs, They found themselves surrounded. 
In vain they fought, in vain they fled, Their chief, humane and tender, 
To save the rest, he thought it best His forces to surrender. 

Brave St. Clair, when he first retired, Knew what the fates portended, 
And Arnold, with heroic Gates, His conduct have defended. 
Thus may America's brave sons With honor be rewarded; 
And be the fate of all her foes The fame as here recorded.

"A Song" 1778
("Lord North's Recantation")
Lord North

When North first began,  With his taxation plan,
The Colonies all to supplant;  To Britain's true cause,
And her liberty, laws,  O, how did he scorn to recant.

Oh ! how did he boast,  Of his pow'r and his host,
Alternately swagger and cant;  Of freedom so dear,
Not a word would he hear,  Nor believe he'd be forc'd to recant.

That freedom he swore,  They ne'er should have more,
Their money to give and to grant;  Whene'er they address'd,
What disdain he express'd,  Not thinking they'd make him recant.

He armies sent o'er  To America's shore,
New government there to transplant;  But every campaign
Prov'd his force to be vain,  Yet still he refus'd to recant.

But with all their bombast,  They were so beat at last,
As to silence his impious rant;  Who for want of success,
Could at last do no less,  Than draw in his horns, and recant.

With his brother Burgoyne,  He's forc'd now to join,
And a treaty of peace for to want;  Says he ne'er will fight,
But will give up his right  To taxation, and freely recant.

With the great General Howe,  He'd be very glad now,
He ne'er had engag'd in the jaunt;  And ev'ry proud Scot,
In the devilish plot,  With his lordship, are forc'd to recant.

Old England alas!  They have brought to such pass,
Too late are Proposals extant;  America's lost,
Our glory at most  Is only that - tyrants recant.

"A Song" 1779 
("Hearts of Oak")
Here's a bumper, brave boys, to the health of our king, 

Long may he live, and long may we sing,
In praise of a monarch who boldly defends
The laws of the realm, and the cause of his friends.

Then cheer up, my lads, we have nothing to fear,
While we remain steady,
And always keep ready,
To add to the trophies of this happy year.

The Congress did boast of their mighty ally,
But George does both France and the Congress defy; 

And when Britons unite, there's no force can withstand 
Their fleets and their armies, by sea and on land.

Thus supported, our cause we will ever maintain,
And all treaties with rebels will ever disdain;
Till reduc'd by our arms, they are forc'd to confess,
While ruled by Great Britain they ne'er knew distress.

Then let us, my boys, Britain's right e'er defend,
Who regards not her rights, we esteem not our friend;
Then, brave boys, we both France and the Congress defy,
And we'll fight for Great Britain and George till we die,

Then cheer up, my lads, we have nothing to fear,
While we remain steady,
And always keep ready,
To add to the trophies of this happy year.

"The Song of the Heads"
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.

"Song Of Vermonters" 1779
(words by poet John Greenleaf Whittier)
Ho, all to the borders! Vermonters come down, With your breeches of deer-skin, and jackets of brown; 
With your red woollen caps, and your moccasins, come To the gathering summons of trumpet and drum. 

Come down with your rifles! - let gray wolf and fox Howl on the shade of their primitive rocks; 

Let the bear feed securely from pig-pen and stall; Here's two-legged game for your powder and ball. 

On our South come the Dutchman, enveloped in grease, And arming for battle while canting for peace; 

On our East crafty Meshecht had gathered his band, To hang up our leaders and eat out our land. 

Ho, al to the rescue! For Satan shall work No gain for his legions of Hampshire and York! 

They claim our possessions - the pitiful knaves - The tribute we pay shall be prisons and graves! 

Let Clinton and Ten Brock, with bribes in their hands, Still seek to divide us and parcel our lands; 

We've coats for our traitors whoever they are - The warp is of feathers, the filling of tar! 

Does the "Old Bay State" threaten? Does Congress complain? Swarms Hampshire in arms on our borders again? 

Bark the war-dogs of Britain aloud on the lake? Let 'em come! what they can, they are welcome to take. 

What seek they among us? The pride of our wealth Is comfort, contentment, and labor, and health, 

And lands which as freemen we only have trod, Independent of all save the mercies of God. 

Yet we owe no allegiance; we bow to no throne; Our ruler is law and the law is our own; 

Our leaders themselves are our own fellow-men, Who can handle the sword, or the scythe, or the pen. 

Our wives are all true, and our daughters are fair, With their blue eyes of smiles, and their light flowing hair; 
All brisk at their wheels till the dark even-fall, Then blithe at the sleigh-ride, the husking, and ball. 

We've sheep on the hillside; we've cows on the plain; And gay-tasseled corn-fields, and rank-growing grain; 
There are deer on the mountains, and wood-pigeons fly From the crack of our muskets, like clouds on the sky. 

And there's fish in our streamlets and rivers, which take Their course from the hills to our broad-bosomed lake; 
Through rock-arched Winooski the salmon leaps free, And the portly shad follows all fresh from the sea. 

Like a sunbeam the pickerel glides through his pool; and the spotted trout sleeps where the water is cool, 
Or darts from his shelter of rock and of root, At the beaver's quick plunge, or the angler's pursuit. 

And ours are the mountains which awfully rise, Till they rest their green heads on the top of the skies; 
And ours are the forests unwasted, unshorn, Save where the wild path of the tempest is torn. 

And though savage and wild be this climate of ours, And brief be our season of fruits and of flowers, 
Far dearer the blast round our mountain which raves, Than the sweet Summer zephyr which breathes over slaves. 

Hurrah for Vermont! for the land which we till Must have sons to defend her, from valley and hill; 
Leave the harvest to rot on the field where it grows; And the reaping of what for the reaping of foes. 

Far from Michiscow's wild valley, to where Poosoomsuck steals fown from his wood-circled lair, 
From Shocticook River to Lutterlock town - Ho, all to the rescue! Vermonters, come down! 

Come York or come Hampshire, come traitors and knaves, If ye rule o'er our land, ye shall rule o'r our graves; 
Our vow is recorded, our banner unfurled, In the name of Vermont we defy all the world!

"The South Carolina"1782
("The Letter")


My dear brother Ned, We are knock'd on the head;
No more let America boast; We may all go to bed,
And that's enough said, For the South Carolina we've lost.

The pride of our eyes, I swear is a prize,
You never will see her again, Unless thro' surprise,

You are brought where she lies, A prisoner from the false main.

Oh Lord! what a sight - I was struck with affright,
When the Diomede's shot round us fell, I feared that in spite,

They'd have slain us outright, And sent us directly to h--l.

The Quebec did fire, Or I'm a curs'd liar,
And the Astrea came up apace; We could not retire, 

From the confounded fire, They all were so eager in chase.

The Diomede's shot Was damnation hot,
She was several times in a blaze; It was not my lot,

To go then to pot, But I vow, I was struck with amaze.

And Ned, may I die, Or be pok'd in a sty,
If ever I venture again Where bullets do fly,
And the wounded do cry Tormented with anguish and pain.

The Hope, I can tell, And the brig Constance fell,
I swear, and I vow, in our sight; The first I can say,
Was taken by day, But the latter was taken at night.

I die to relate What has been our fate,
How sadly our navies are shrunk; The pride of our State,
Begins to abate, For the branches are lopp'd from the trunk.

The Congress must bend, We shall fall in the end,
For the curs'd British sarpents are tough; But, I think as you find,
I have enough penn'd Of such cursèd, such vexatious stuff.

Yet how vexing to find, We are left all behind,
That by sad disappointment we're cross'd; Ah, fortune unkind !
Thou afflicted'st my mind, When the South Carolina we lost.

Our enemy vile, Cunning Digby does smile,
Is pleasèd at our mischance; He useth each wile,
Our fleets to beguile, And to check our commerce with France.

No more as a friend, Our ships to defend,
Of South Carolina we boast; As a foe in the end
She will us attend, For the South Carolina we've lost

"The Stamp Act Repeal" 1766


In Greece and Rome renowned for art and arms, 

Whose every bosom felt fair Freedom's charms,

Those manly breasts which generous ardor fired, 

When public weal their swords or care required;

When peace abroad their conquering arms procured, 

At home, when wisdom, Liberty secured:

Greatly unbending o'er the social bowl, 

Indulged the transports of a genial soul.

So we, nor second to those sons of Fame, 
In love of freedom, tho' of humbler name;
Or dauntless courage, bravely to oppose 
Domestic tyranny, or foreign foes;
We, who far foremost here, a virtuous few, 
Dare to our country and ourselves be true;
Who dare, in spite of ev'ry venial frown, 
Assert our rights, and lawless power disown;
Spite of each parasite, each cringing slave, 
Each cautious dastard, each oppressive knave;
Each gibing Ass, that reptile of an hour, 
The supercilious pimp of abject slaves in power;
Spite of those empty boasters, who conceal 
Their coward fear with circumspection's veil,
Are met, to celebrate in festive mirth 
The day that gives our second freedom birth;
That tells us, Britain's Grenvilles never more 
Shall dare usurp unjust, illegal power,
Or threat America's free sons with chains, 
While the least spark of ancient fire remains;
While records bid the virtuous sons admire 
The godlike acts of each intrepid sire.

Exult America! each dauntless son 
Will ever keep fair Liberty their own;
Will base submission, servile fear despise, 
And Freedom's substance, not her shadow prize. 

Triumph America! Thy patriot voice 
Has made the greatest of mankind rejoice,
Immortal PITT! - O ever glorious name! 
Far, far unequaled in the rolls of fame!
What breast, for virtue is by all approved, 
And freedom even by Asia's slaves beloved,
What breast but glows with gratitude to thee, 
Boast of mankind, great prop of Liberty!

To thee, the best of parents and of friends, 
America with grateful homage bends,
Her thanks, her love, unable to express, 
To thee, great patron of her happiness.

Raised by thy hand, beneath thy guardian care, 
Luxuriant blooms adorn her vernal year;
And, when rapacious harpies would devour 
The infant fruit, and blast the tender flower,
Shielded by thee, she mocks the abortive wiles; 
Beneath thy shade, again her verdure smiles.

Would 'twere in pity to mankind decreed, 
That still a PITT should to a PITT succeed:
When proud oppression would subvert the laws, 
That still a CAMDEN should defend the cause.

Nor let's forget the gallant BARRE'S merit, 
His TULLY'S periods and his CATO'S spirit;
His, too, an honest independent heart, 
Where fear, nor fraud, nor avarice have part:
Or generous MEREDITH, our worthy friend, 
The first our injured freedom to defend;
Who nobly, not by powerful wrath deterred, 
Our just remonstrance and complaints preferred.

Proceed, great names! your mighty influence join, 
Your country's arts, and policies refine:
Assist great CONWAY, and reform the state; 
Bid peaceful commerce re-assume her seat;
Bid BRITISH navies whiten ev'ry coast, 
And BRITISH freedom ev'ry country boast.
Let us then, emulous of each great name 
Conspicuous in the ancient page of fame,
Resolve, that freedom to our sons be sped, 
Not worse than when our valiant fathers bled:
Emerging glorious from our late distress, 
Let ev'ry bosom hail returning peace:
This day let nought but jocund mirth employ, 
Relax each brow, and give a loose to joy.

And you, ye fair, on whom our hopes depend, 
Our future fame and empire to extend;
Whose fruitful beds will dauntless myriads yield, 
To fight for freedom in some future field;
Resign each fear.

To-day, let gladness beam in every face, 
Soften each smile and brighten every grace;
While the glad roofs with lofty notes resound, 
With grace harmonious move the mazy round.

Make our hearts feel the long-forgotten fire 
Wake into flame each spark of soft desire.

Too long indignant tumults and alarms 
Have made us heedless of your lovely charms
But, now, beneath the downy wings of peace, 
With freedom blest, our care shall be to please;
Each day the genial pleasure to improve, 
And add new sweetness to connubial love.

"Stony Point" 1779