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So, hearing that most of you rebels were dead,
That some had submitted, and others had fled,
I mustered my tories, myself at their head,

And over we scudded, our hearts full of glee,
As merry as ever poor devils could be,
Our ancient dominion, Virginia, to see;

Our shoe-boys, and tars, and the very cook's mate
Already conceived he possessed an estate,
And the tories no longer were cursing their fate.

Myself, the Don Quixote, and each of the crew,
Like Sancho, had islands and empires in view-
They were captains and knights, and the devil knows who:

But now, to our sorrow, disgrace, and surprise,
No longer deceived by the Father of Lies, *
We hear with our ears, and we see with our eyes:

I have therefore to make you a modest request
(And I'm sure in my mind it will be for the best),
Admit me again to your mansions of rest.

There are Eden, and Martin, and Franklin and Tryon,
All waiting to see you submit to the Lion,
And may wait till the devil is king of Mount Sion :-

Though a brute and a dunce, like the rest of the clan,
I can govern as well as most English men can;
And if I'm a drunkard, I still am a man.

I missed it somehow in comparing my notes,
Or six years ago I had joined with your votes;
Not aided the negroes in cutting your throats.

Although with so many hard names I was branded,
I hope you'll believe (as you will if you're candid),
That I only performed what my master commanded.

Give me lands, . . . . and dice, and you still


be free; Let who will be master, we sha'n't disagree; If King or if Congress—no matter to me.

I hope you will send me an answer straightway,
For 'tis plain that at Charleston we cannot long stay-
And your humble petitioner ever shall pray.

CHARLESTON, 6 Jan., 1782.

* The Printer of the Royal Gazette.


[The Poems of Philip Freneau. 1786.—Poems Written During the Revolutionary War,

etc. 3d Ed. 1809.]


T Eutaw Springs the valiant died :

Their limbs with dust are covered o'er;
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;

How many heroes are no more!

If in this wreck of ruin, they

Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
O smite thy gentle breast, and say

The friends or freedom slumber here!

Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain,

If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted rural reign;

Sigh for the shepherds sunk to rest!

Stranger, their humble groves adorn;

You too may fall, and ask a tear: 'Tis not the beauty of the morn

That proves the evening shall be clear.

They saw their injured country's woe,

The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;

They took the spear—but left the shield.

Led by thy conquering standards, Greene,

The Britons they compelled to fly:
None distant viewed the fatal plain,

None grieved in such a cause to die

But, like the Parthian, famed of old,

Who, flying, still their arrows threw,
These routed Britons, full as bold,

Retreated, and retreating slew.

Now rest in peace, our patriot band;

Though far from nature's limits thrown,
We trust they find a happier land,

A brighter Phæbus of their own.


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This is a proud English cruiser,

Roving up and down the main, We must fight her-must reduce her,

Though our decks be strewed with slain.

“Let who will be the survivor,

We must conquer or must die, We must take her up the river,

Whate'er comes of you or I: Though she shows most formidable

With her eighteen pointed nines, And her quarters clad in sable,

Let us bauk her proud designs.

“With four nine-pounders and twelve sixes,

We will face that daring band; Let no dangers damp your courage,

Nothing can the brave withstand. Fighting for your country's honor,

Now to gallant deeds aspire; Helmsman, bear us down upon her,

Gunner, give the word to fire!"

Then yard-arm and yard-arm meeting,

Straight began the dismal fray, Cannon mouths, each other greeting,

Belched their smoky flames away; Soon the langrage, grape and chain-shot,

That from Barney's cannons flew, Swept the Monk, and cleared each round-top,

Killed and wounded half her crew.

Captain Rogers strove to rally

His men from their quarters fled, While the roaring Hyder Ally

Covered o'er his decks with dead. When from their tops their dead men tumbled,

And the streams of blood did flow, Then their proudest hopes were humbled

By their brave inferior foe.

All aghast, and all confounded,

They beheld their champions fall, And their captain, sorely wounded,

Bade them quick for quarter call. Then the Monk's proud flag descended,

And her cannon ceased to roar; By her crew no more defended,

She confessed the contest o'er.

Come, brave boys, and fill your glasses,

You have humbled one proud foe,
No brave action this surpasses,

Fame shall tell the nations so.
Thus be Britain's woes completed,

Thus abridged her cruel reign,
Till she ever, thus defeated,

Yields the sceptre of the main.



N scent of game, from town to town he flew,

The soldier's curse pursued him on his way;
Care in his eye, and anguish on his brow,

He seemed a sea-hawk watching for his prey.

With soothing words the widow's mite he gained,

With piercing glance watched misery's dark abode, Filched paper scraps while yet a scrap remained,

Bought where he must, and cheated where he could.

Vast loads amassed of scrip, and who knows what;

Potosi's wealth seemed lodged within his clutch, But wealth has wings (he knew) and instant bought

The prancing steed, gay harness, and gilt coach.

One Sunday morn, to church we saw him ride

In glittering state-alack! and who but he
The following week, with Madam at his side,

To routs they drove-and drank Imperial tea!

In cards and fun the livelong day they spent,

With songs and smut prolonged the midnight feast, If plays were had, to plays they constant went,

Where Madam's top-kpot rose a foot at least.

Three weeks, and more, thus passed in airs of state,

The fourth beheld the mighty bubble fail, -
And he, who countless millions owned so late,

Stopped short-and closed his triumphs in a jail.

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