No courtiers now their friends deceive
With promises of favor;

For what they made 'em once believe
Is done and done forever.

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 pleased and happy.

Our frugal taste the State secures,
Whence then can woes begin?

For luxury's turned out of doors,
And prudence taken in.

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

No pleasure-chaises fill the streets, Nor crowd the roads on Sunday; So horses, ambling through 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 endowed!

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 DANCE.

[Published in 1781, after the Surrender of Cornwallis.]

Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts,
For stumps and briars meet, sir?
Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts,
Or hardy veteran feet, sir?

Now housed in York he challenged all,

At minuet or all 'amande,

And lessons for a courtly ball

His guards by day and night conned.

This challenge known, full soon there came,
A set who had the bon ton,

De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame
Fut brillant pour un long tems.

And Washington, Columbia's son,
Whom easy nature taught, sir,
That grace which can't by pains be won,
Or Plutus' gold be bought, sir.

Now hand in hand they circle round
This ever-dancing peer, sir;

Their gentle movements soon confound
The earl as they draw near, sir.

His music soon forgets to play—
His feet can no more move, sir,
And all his bands now curse the day
They jiggèd to our shore, sir.

Now Tories all, what can ye say?

Come-is not this a griper,

That while your hopes are danced away,

'Tis you must pay the piper?

THE CONGRESS.

[Tory Song, to the tune of " Nancy Dawson." Printed in Towne's Evening Post. 1776.]

When Jove resolved to send a curse,
And all the woes of life rehearse,-

Not plague, not famine, but much worse,-
He cursed us with a Congress.

Then peace forsook this hapless shore;
Then cannons blazed with horrid roar;
We hear of blood, death, wounds and gore,
The offspring of the Congress.

Imperial Rome from scoundrels rose;
Her grandeur's hailed in verse and prose;
Venice the dregs of sea compose;

So sprung the mighty Congress.

When insects vile emerge to light

They take their short inglorious flight,
Then sink again to native night:
An emblem of the Congress.

With freemen's rights they wanton play;
At their command, we fast and pray;
With worthless paper they us pay;
A fine device of Congress.

With poverty and dire distress,
With standing armies us oppress;

Whole troops to Pluto swiftly press,
As victims to the Congress.

Time-serving priests to zealots preach,
Who king and parliament impeach;
Seditious lessons to us teach

At the command of Congress.

The world's amazed to see the pest
The tranquil land with wars infest;
Britannia puts them to the test,

And tries the strength of Congress.

O goddess, hear our hearty prayers!
Confound the villains by the ears;
Disperse the plebeians-try the peers,
And execute the Congress.

See, see, our hope begins to dawn;
Bold Carleton scours the northern lawn;
The sons of faction sigh forlorn;

Dejected is the Congress.

Clinton, Burgoyne, and gallant Howe,
Will soon reward our conduct true,
And to each traitor give his due;
Perdition waits the Congress.

See noble Dunmore keeps his post;
Maraudes and ravages the coast;
Despises Lee and all his host,

That hair-brain tool of Congress.

There's Washington and all his men—
Where Howe had one, the goose had ten-
Marched up the hill, and down again,
And sent returns to Congress.

Prepare, prepare, my friends prepare,
For scenes of blood, the field of war;
To royal standard we'll repair,

And curse the haughty Congress.

Huzza! Huzza! we thrice huzza!
Return peace, harmony, and law!
Restore such times as once we saw
And bid adieu to Congress.

BOLD HAWTHORNE.

[The Surgeon's record of the Cruise of the "Fair American," Captain Daniel Haw

thorne, Commander. 1777.]