Canto II: The Town-Meeting, P.M.

THE Sun, who never stops to dine,
Two hours had pass'd the mid-way line;
And, driving at his usual rate,
Lash'd on his downward car of state;
And now expir'd the short vacation,
And dinner done in epic fashion;
While all the crew beneath the trees,
Eat pocket-pies or bread and cheese;
Nor shall we, like old Homer, care
To versify the bill of fare.
For now each party, feasted well,
Throng'd in, like sheep, at sound of bell,
With equal spirit took their places;
And meeting op'd with three Oh yesses:
When first the daring Whigs t' oppose,
Again the great M'Fingal rose,
Stretch'd magisterial arm amain,
And thus assum'd th' accusing strain.
"Ye Whigs attend, and hear, affrighted,
The crimes whereof ye stand indicted;
The sins and folly past all compass,
That prove you guilty, or non compos.
I leave the verdict to your senses,
And Jury of your consciences;
Which tho' they're neither good nor true,
Must yet convict you and your crew,
Ungrateful sons! a factious band,
That rise against your parent-land!
Ye viper race, that burst in strife,
The welcome womb that gave you life,
Tear with sharp fangs, and forked tongue,
Th' indulgent bowels, whence you sprung;
And scorn the debt of obligation,
You justly owe the British nation,
Which since you cannot pay, your crew
Affect to swear 'twas never due.
"Did not the deeds of England's Primate
First drive your fathers to this climate,
Whom jails, and fines, and ev'ry ill
Forc'd to their good against their will?
Ye owe to their obliging temper
The peopling your new-fangled empire,
While every British act and canon
Stood forth, you causa sine qua non.
Did they not send you charters o'er,
And give you lands you own'd before,
Permit you all to spill your blood,
And drive out heathen where you could;
On these mild terms, that, conquest won,
The realm you gain'd should be their own?
Or when of late, attack'd by those,
Whom her connection made your foes,
Did they not then, distrest in war,
Send Gen'rals to your help from far,
Whose aid you own'd in terms less haughty,
And thankfully o'erpaid your quota?
Say, at what period did they grudge
To send you Governor or Judge,
With all their missionary crew,
To teach you law and gospel too?
Brought o'er all felons in the nation,
To help you on in population,
Propos'd their Bishops to surrender,
And made their Priests a legal tender,
Who only ask'd, in surplice clad,
The simple tythe of all you had:
And now to keep all knaves in awe,
Have sent their troops t' establish law,
And with gunpowder, fire, and ball,
Reform your people one and all.
Yet, when their insolence and pride
Have anger'd all the world beside,
When fear and want at once invade,
Can you refuse to lend them aid;
And rather risque your heads in fight,
Than gratefully throw in your mite?
Can they for debts make satisfaction,
Should they dispose their realm by auction;
And sell off Britain's goods and land all
To France and Spain by inch of candle?
Shall good king George, with want opprest,
Insert his name in bankrupt list,
And shut up shop, like failing merchant,
That fears the bailiffs should make search in't;
With poverty shall princes strive,
And nobles lack whereon to live?
Have they not wreck'd their whole inventions,
To feed their brats on posts and pensions,
Made e'en Scotch friends with taxes groan,
And pick'd poor Ireland to the bone;
Yet have on hand, as well deserving,
Ten thousand bastards left for starving?
And can you now, with conscience clear,
Refuse them an asylum here,
Or not maintain in manner fitting
These genuine sons of Mother Britain?
T' evade these crimes of blackest grain,
You prate of Liberty in vain,
And strive to hide your vile designs,
With terms abstruse, like school-divines.
"Your boasted patriotism is scarce,
Your country's love is but a farce:
And after all the proofs you bring,
We Tories know there's no such thing;
Our English writers of great fame
Prove public virtue but a name.
Hath not Dalrymple show'd in print,
And Johnson too, there's nothing in't?
Produc'd you demonstration ample,
From other's and their own example,
That self is still, in either faction,
The only principle of action;
The loadstone, whose attracting tether
Keeps the politic world together:
And, spite of all your double-dealing,
We Tories know 'tis so, by feeling.
"Who heeds your babbling of transmitting
Freedom to brats of your begetting,
Or will proceed as tho' there were a tie,
Or obligation to posterity?
We get 'em, bear 'em, breed and nurse;
What has post'rity done for us,
That we, lest they their rights should lose,
Should trust our necks to gripe of noose?
"And who believes you will not run?
You're cowards, ev'ry mother's son;
And should you offer to deny,
We've witnesses to prove it by.
Attend th' opinion first, as referee,
Of your old Gen'ral, stout Sir Jeffery,
Who swore that with five thousand foot
He'd rout you all, and, in pursuit,
Run thro' the land as easily,
As camel thro' a needle's eye.
Did not the valiant Col'nel Grant
Against your courage make his slant,
Affirm your universal failure
In ev'ry principle of valour,
And swear no scamp'rers e'er could match you,
So swift, a bullet scarce could catch you?
And will ye not confess in this,
A judge most competent he is,
Well skill'd on runnings to decide,
As what himself has often tried?
'Twould not, methinks, be labor lost,
If you'd sit down and count the cost;
And e're you call your Yankies out,
First think what work you've set about.
Have ye not rouz'd, his force to try on,
That grim old beast, the British Lion?
And know you not that at a sup
He's large enough to eat you up?
Have you survey'd his jaws beneath,
Drawn inventories of his teeth,
Or have you weigh'd in even balance
His strength and magnitude of talons?
His roar would turn your boasts to fear,
As easily as sour small-beer,
And make your feet from dreadful fray,
By native instinct, run away.
Britain, depend on't, will take on her
T' assert her dignity and honor,
And e're she'd lose your share of pelf,
Destroy your country, and herself.
For has not North declar'd they fight
To gain substantial rev'nue by't,
Denied he'd ever deign to treat,
'Till on your knees, and at his feet?
And feel you not a trifling ague,
From Van's Delenda est Carthago ?
For this, now Britain has come to't,
Think you she has not means to do't?
Has she not set to work all engines
To spirit up the native Indians,
Send on your backs a savage band,
With each a hatchet in his hand,
T' amuse themselves with scalping knives,
And butcher children and your wives;
That she may boast again with vanity,
Her English national humanity?
(For now in its primaeval sense,
This term, human'ty, comprehends
All things of which, on this side hell,
The human mind is capable;
And thus 'tis well, by writers sage,
Applied to Britain and to Gage.)
And on this work to raise allies
She sent her duplicate of Guys,
To drive at diff'rent parts at once, on
Her stout Guy Carleton and Guy Johnson;
To each of whom, to send again ye
Old Guy of Warwick were a ninny;
Tho' the dun cow he fell'd in war,
These kill-cows are his betters far.
"And has she not assay'd her notes,
To rouze your slaves to cut your throats,
Sent o'er ambassadors with guineas,
To bribe your blacks in Carolinas?
And has not Gage, her missionary,
Turn'd many an Afric slave t' a Tory,
And made th' Amer'can Bishop's see grow,
By many a new-converted Negro?
As friends to gov'rment did not he
Their slaves at Boston late set free?
Enlist them all in black parade,
Set off with regimental red?
And were they not accounted then
Among his very bravest men?
And when such means she stoops to take,
Think you she is not wide awake?
As Eliphaz' good man in Job,
Own'd num'rous allies thro' the globe;
Had brought the stones along the street
To ratify a cov'nant meet,
And ev'ry beast from lice to lions,
To join in league of strict alliance:
Has she not cring'd, in spite of pride,
For like assistance, far and wide?
Was there a creature so despis'd,
Its aid she has not sought and priz'd?
Till all this formidable league rose
Of Indians, British troops, and Negroes,
And can you break these triple bands
By all your workmanship or hands?"
"Sir, quoth Honorius, we presume
You guess from past feats, what's to come,
And from the mighty deeds of Gage,
Foretell how fierce the war he'll wage.
You, doubtless, recollected here
The annals of his first great year:
While wearying out the Tories' patience,
He spent his breath in proclamations;
While all his mighty noise and vapour
Was us'd in wrangling upon paper;
And boasted military fits
Clos'd in the straining of his wits;
While troops in Boston commons plac'd,
Laid nought but quires of paper waste;
While strokes alternate stunn'd the nation,
Protest, address, and proclamation;
And speech met speech, fib clash'd with fib,
And Gage still answered squib for squib.
"Tho' this not all his time was lost on,
He fortified the town of Boston;
Built breast-works that might lend assistance
To keep the patriots at a distance;
(For howsoe'er the rogues might scoff,
He lik'd them best the farthest off;)
Of mighty use and help to aid
His courage when he felt affraid;
And whence right off in manful station,
He'd boldly pop his proclamation.
Our hearts must in our bosoms freeze
At such heroic deeds as these."
"Vain, quoth our 'Squire, you'll find to sneer
At Gage's first triumphant year;
For providence, dispos'd to teaze us,
Can use what instruments it pleases.
To pay a tax at Peter's wish,
His chief cashier was once a Fish;
An Ass, in Balaam's sad disaster,
Turn'd orator, and sav'd his master;
A goose plac'd sentry on his station
Preserv'd old Rome from desolation;
An English bishop's Cur of late
Disclos'd rebellions 'gainst the state;
So Frogs croak'd Pharaoh to repentance,
And lice revers'd the threat'ning sentence:
And Heaven can ruin you at pleasure,
By our scorn'd Gage, as well as Caesar.
Yet did our hero in these days
Pick up some laurel-wreathes of praise.
And as the statuary of Seville
Made his crack'd saint an exc'llent devil;
So tho' our war few triumphs brings,
We gain'd great fame in other things.
Did not our troops show much discerning,
And skill your various arts in learning?
Outwent they not each native noodle
By far, in playing Yankey-Doodle ;
Which, as 'twas your New-England tune,
'Twas marvellous they took so soon?
And ere the year was fully thro'
Did not they learn to foot it too;
And such a dance as ne'er was known,
For twenty miles on end led down?
Was there a Yankey trick you knew,
They did not play as well as you?
Did they not lay their heads together,
And gain your art to tar and feather,
When Col'nel Nesbitt thro' the town
In triumph bore the country-clown?
Oh, what a glorious work to sing
The vet'ran troops of Britain's king.
Advent'ring for th' heroic laurel,
With bag of feathers and tar-barrel!
To paint the cart where culprits ride,
And Nesbitt marching at its side ,
Great executioner and proud,
Like hangman high on Holborn road;
And o'er the bright triumphal car
The waving ensigns of the war!
As when a triumph Rome decreed,
For great Calig'la's valiant deed,
Who had subdu'd the British seas,
By gath'ring cockles from their base;
In pompous car the conqu'ror bore
His captiv'd scallops from the shore,
Ovations gain'd his crabs for fetching,
And mighty feats of oyster-catching:
O'er Yankies thus the war begun,
They tarr'd and triumph'd over one;
And fought and boasted thro' the season,
With might as great, and equal reason.
"Yet thus tho skill'd in vict'ry toils,
They boast, not unexpert in wiles.
For gain'd they not an equal fame in
The art of secrecy and scheming;
In stratagems show'd mighty force,
And moderniz'd the Trojan horse;
Play'd o'er again those tricks Ulyssean
In their fam'd Salem-expedition?
For as that horse, the Poets tell ye,
Bore Grecian armies in his belly;
Till, their full reck'ning run, with joy
Their Sinon midwif'd them in Troy;
So in one ship was Leslie ld
Cramm'd with three hundred men in hold,
Equip'd for enterprize and sail,
Like Jonas stow'd in womb of whale.
To Marblehead, in depth of night,
The cautious vessel wing'd her flight.
And now the sabbath's silent day
Call'd all your Yankies off to pray;
Remov'd each prying jealous neighbour,
The scheme and vessel fell in labor;
Forth from its hollow womb pour'd hast'ly
The Myrmidons of Col'nel Leslie:
Not thicker o'er the blacken'd strand
The Frogs' detachment rush'd to land,
Equipp'd by onset or surprise
To storm th' entrenchment of the Mice.
Thro' Salem strait without delay,
The bold battalion took its way,
March'd o'er a bridge in open sight
Of sev'ral Yankies arm'd for fight,
Then without loss of time, or men,
Veer'd round for Boston back again;
And found so well their projects thrive,
That ev'ry soul got home alive.
"Thus Gage's arms did fortune bless,
With triumph, safety, and success:
But mercy is, without dispute,
His first and darling attribute;
So great, it far outwent and conquer'd
His military skill at Concord.
There when the war he chose to wage
Shone the benevolence of Gage;
Sent troops to that ill-omen'd place
O errands more of special grace,
And all the work he chose them for
Was to prevent a civil war:
And for that purpose he projected
The only certain way t' effect it,
To take your powder, stores, and arms,
And all your means of doing harms:
As prudent folks takes knives away,
Lest children cut themselves at play,
And yet, tho' this was all his scheme,
This war you still will charge on him;
And tho' he oft has swore, and said it,
Stick close to facts, and give no credit.
Think you, he wish'd you'd brave and beard him?
Why, 'twas the very thing that scar'd him.
He'd rather you should all have run,
Than stay'd to fire a single gun.
And for the civil war you lament,
Faith, you yourselves must take the blame in't;
For had you then, as he intended,
Giv'n up your arms, it must have ended.
Since that's no war, each mortal knows,
Where one side only gives the blows,
And th' other bears 'em; on reflection
The most you'll call it, is correction.
Nor could the contest have gone higher,
If you had ne'er return'd the fire;
But when you shot, and not before,
It then commenc'd a civil war.
Else Gage, to end this controversy,
Had but corrected you in mercy:
Whom mother Britain, old and wise,
Sent o'er the Col'nies to chastise:
Command obedience on their peril
Of ministerial whip and ferule;
And since they ne'er could come of age,
Govern'd and tutor'd them by Gage.
Still more, that this was all their errand.
The army's conduct makes apparent.
What tho' at Lexington you can say
They kill'd a few they did not fancy,
At Concord then, with manful popping,
Discharg'd a round, the ball to open?
Yet when they saw your rebel-rout
Determin'd still to hold it out;
Did not they show their love to peace,
And wish, that discord strait may cease,
Demonstrate, and by proofs uncommon,
Their orders were to injure no man;
For did not ev'ry Reg'lar run
As soon as e'er you fir'd a gun:
Take the first shot you sent them greeting,
As meant their signal for retreating;
And fearful if they staid to sport,
You might by accident be hurt,
Convey themselves with speed away
Full twenty miles in half a day;
Race till their legs were grown so weary,
They'd scarce suffice their weight to carry?
Whence Gage extols, from gen'ral hearsy,
The great activ'ty of Lord Piercy;
Whose brave example led them on,
And spirited the troops to run;
And now may boast at royal levees
A Yanky-chace worth forty Chevys.
Yet you as vile as they were kind,
Pursu'd like tygers, still behind,
Fir'd on them at your will, and shut
The town, as tho' you'd starve them out;
And with parade prepost'rous hedg'd
Affect to hold them there besieg'd;
(Tho' Gage, whom proclamations call
Your Gov'nor and Vice Admiral,
Whose pow'r gubernatorial still
Extends as far as Bunker's Hill;
Whose admiralty reaches clever,
Near half a mile up Mystic river,
Whose naval force commands the seas,
Can run away whene'er he please,)
Scar'd troops of Tories into town,
And burnt their hay and houses down,
And menac'd Gage, unless he'd flee,
To drive him headlong to the sea;
As once, to faithless Jews a sign,
The de'el turn'd hog-reeve, did the swine.
"But now your triumphs all are o'er;
For see from Britain's angry shore
With mighty hosts of valour join
Her Howe, her Clinton, and Burgoyne.
As comets thro' the affrighted skies
Pour baleful ruin, as they rise;
As Aetna with infernal roar
In conflagation sweeps the shore;
Or as Abijah White, when sent
Our Marshfield friends to represent;
Himself while dread array involves,
Commissions, pistols, swords, resolves,
In awful pomp descending down,
Bore terror on the factious town:
Not with less glory and affright,
Parade these Gen'rals forth to fight.
No more each Reg'lar Col'nel runs
From whizzing beetles, as air-guns,
Thinks horn-bugs bullets, or thro' fears
Muskitoes takes for musketeers;
Nor 'scapes, as tho' you gain'd allies
From Belzebub's whole host of flies.
No bug their warlike heart appalls;
They better know the sound of balls.
I hear the din of battle bray,
The trump of horror marks its way.
I see after the sack of cities,
The gallows strung with Whig-committees;
Your Moderators tric'd, like vermin,
And gate-posts grac'd with heads of Chairman;
Your Gen'rals for wave-offerings hanging,
And ladders throng'd with Priests haranguing.
What pill'ries glad the Tories' eyes
With patriot-ears for sacrifice!
What whipping-posts your chosen race
Admit successive in embrace,
While each bears off his crimes, alack!
Like Bunyan's pilgrim, on his back!
Where then, when Tories scarce get clear,
Shall Whigs and Congresses appear?
What rocks and mountains shall you call
To wrap you ever with their fall,
And save your heads in these sad weathers,
From fire and sword, and tar and feathers!
For lo, with British troops, tar-bright,
Again our Nesbitt heaves in sight!
He comes, he comes, your lines to storm,
And rigg your troops in uniform!
To meet such heroes, will ye brag,
With fury arm'd and feather-bag;
Who weild their missile pitch and tar,
With engines new in British war?
"Lo, where our mighty navy brings
Destruction on her canvas wings;
While thro' the deeps her potent thunder
Shall sound th' alarm to rob and plunder!
As Phoebus first, so Homer speaks,
When he march'd out t' attack the Greeks,
'Gainst mules sent forth his arrows fatal,
And slew th' auxiliaries, their cattle;
So where our ships shall stretch the keel,
What conquer'd oxen shall they steal!
What heroes rising from the deep
Invade your marshall'd hosts of sheep!
Disperse whole troops of horse, and pressing
Make cows surrender at discretion;
Attack your hens, like Alexanders,
And reg'ments rout of geese and ganders;
Or where united arms combine
Lead captive many a herd of swine!
Then rush in dreadful fury down
To fire on ev'ry sea-port town;
Display their glory and their wits,
Fright unarm'd children into fits,
And stoutly from th' unequal fray,
Make many a woman run away!
And can ye doubt whene'er we please
Our chiefs shall boast such deeds as these?
Have we not chiefs, transcending far
The old fam'd thunderbolts of war;
Beyond the brave romantic fighters,
Stil'd swords of death by novel-writers?
Nor in romancing ages e'er rose
So terrible a tier of heroes,
From Gage, what flashes fright the waves!
How loud a blunderbuss is Graves!
How Newport dreads the blust'ring sallies,
That thunder from our pop-gun, Wallace !
While noise in formidable strains
Spouts from his thimble-full of brains!
I see you sink with aw'd surprize!
I see our Tory-brethren rise!
And as the sect'ries Sandimanian,
Our friends, describe their wish'd Millennium;
Tell how the world in ev'ry region
At once shall own their true religion;
For Heav'n with plagues of awful dread
Shall knock all heretics o' th' head;
And then their church the meek in spirit,
The earth, as promis'd shall inherit,
From the dead wicked, as heirs-male,
And next remainder-men in tail:
Such ruin shall the Whigs oppress!
Such spoils our Tory friends shall bless!
While confiscation at command
Shall stalk in horror thro' the land,
Shall give your Whig estates away,
And call our brethren into play.
"And can ye doubt or scruple more,
These things are near you at the door?
Behold! for tho' to reas'ning blind,
Signs of the times ye sure might mind,
And view impending fate as plain
As ye'd foretell a show'r of rain.
"Hath not Heav'n warn'd you what must ensue,
And providence declar'd against you;
Hung forth its dire portents of war,
By signs and beacons in the air;
Alarm'd old women all around
By fearful noises under ground;
While earth for many dozen leagues
Groan'd with her dismal load of Whigs!
Was there a meteor far and wide
But muster'd on the Tory-side?
A star malign that has not bent
Its aspect for the Parliament,
Foreboding your defeat and misery;
As once they fought against old Sisera?
Was there a cloud that spread the skies,
But bore our armies of allies?
While dreadful hosts of fire stood forth
'Mid baleful glimm'rings from the North;
Which plainly shows which part they join'd,
For North's the minister, ye mind;
Whence oft your quibblers in gazettes
On Northern blasts have strain'd their wits;
And think ye not the clouds no how
To make the pun as well as you?
Did there arise an apparition,
But grinn'd forth ruin to sedition?
A death-watch, but has join'd our leagues,
And click'd destruction to the Whigs?
Heard ye not, when the wind was fair,
At night our or'tors in the air,
That loud as admiralty-libel,
Read awful chapters from the bible,
And death and Deviltry denounc'd,
And told you how you'd soon be trounc'd?
I see, to join our conqu'ring side
Heav'n, earth, and hell at once allied!
See from your overthrow and end
The Tories paradise ascend;
Like that new world that claims its station
Beyond the final conflagration!
I see the day that lots your share
In utter darkness and despair;
The day of joy when North, our Lord,
His faithful fav'rites shall reward!
No Tory then shall set before him
Small wish of 'Squire, or Justice Quorum;
But 'fore his unmistaken eyes
See Lordships, posts and pensions rise.
Awake to gladness then, ye Tories,
Th' unbounded prospect lies before us!
The pow'r display'd in Gage's banners
Shall cut Amer'can lands to manors,
And o'er our happy conquer'd ground
Dispense estates and titles round.
Behold, the world will stare at new sets
Of home made earls in Massachusetts;
Admire, array'd in ducal tassels,
Your Ol'vers, Hutchinsons, and Vassals;
See, join'd in ministerial work,
His grace of Albany and York!
What Lordships from each carv'd estate,
On our New-York Assembly wait!
What titled Jauncys, Gales and Billops;
Lord Brush, Lord Wilkins and Lord Phillips!
In wide-sleev'd pomp of godly guise,
What solemn rows of bishops rise!
Aloft a card'nal's hat is spread
O'er punster Cooper's rev'rend head!
In Vardell, that poetic zealot,
I view a lawn-bedizen'd prelate!
While mitres fall, as 'tis their duty,
On heads of Chandler and Auchmuty!
Knights, viscounts, barons, shall ye meet,
As thick as pavements in the street!
Ev'n I, perhaps, Heav'n speed my claim,
Shall fix a Sir before my name.
For titles all our foreheads ache;
For what blest changes can they make!
Place rev'rence, grace and excellence
Where neither claim'd the least pretence;
Transform by patent's magic words
Men, likest Devils, into Lords;
Whence commoners, to peers translated,
Are justly said to be created!
Now where commissioners ye saw
Shall boards of nobles deal you law
Long rob'd comptrollers judge your rights,
And tide-waiters start up in knights!
While Whigs subdu'd in slavish awe,
Our wood shall hew, our water draw,
And bless that mildness, when past hope,
Which sav'd their necks from noose of rope.
For as to gain assistance we
Design their negroes to set free;
For Whigs, when we enough shall bang 'em,
Perhaps 'tis better not to hang 'em;
Except their chiefs; the vulgar knaves
Will do more good preserv'd for slaves."
"'Tis well, Honorius cried, your scheme
Has painted out a pretty dream.
We can't confute second sight;
We shall be slaves and you a knight:
These things must come: but I divine
They'll come not in your day, or mine.
But oh, my friends, my brethren, hear,
And turn for once th' attentive ear.
Ye see how prompt to aid our woes,
The tender mercies of our foes;
Ye see with what unvaried rancour
Still for our blood their minions hanker,
Nor aught can fate their mad ambition,
From us, but death, or worse, submission.
Shall these then riot in our spoil,
Reap the glad harvest of our toil,
Rise from their country's ruin proud,
And roll their chariot wheels in blood?
And can ye sleep while high outspread
Hangs desolation o'er your head?
See Gage with inauspicious star
Has op'd the gates of civil war;
When streams of gore from freemen slain,
Encrimson'd Concord's fatal plain;
Whose warning voice, with awful sound,
Still cries like Abel's, from the ground,
And heav'n attentive to its call,
Shall doom the proud oppressor's fall."
"Rise then, ere ruin swift surprize,
To victory, to vengeance rise!
Hark how the distant din alarms!
The echoing trumpet breathes, to arms;
From provinces, remote afar,
The sons of glory rouze to war;
'Tis freedom calls; th' enraptur'd sound
The Apalachian hills rebound;
The Georgian shores her voice shall hear,
And start from lethargies of fear.
From the parch'd zone, with glowing ray,
Where pours the sun intenser day,
To shores where icy waters roll,
And tremble to the dusky pole,
Inspir'd by freedom's heav'nly charms,
United nations wake to arms.
The star of conquest lights their way,
And guides their vengeance on their prey—
Yes, tho' tyrannic force oppose,
Still shall they triumph o'er their foes,
Till Heav'n the happy land shall bless,
With safety, liberty, and peace."
"And ye whose souls of dastard mould,
Start at the brav'ry of the bold;
To love your country who pretend,
Yet want all spirit to defend;
Who feel your fancies so prolific,
Engend'ring vision'd whims terrific,
O'er-run with horrors of coercion,
Fire, blood, and thunder in reversion,
King's standards, pill'ries, confiscations,
And Gage's scare-crow proclamations,
With all the trumpery of fear;
Hear bullets whizzing in your rear;
Who scarce could rouze, if caught in fray,
Presence of mind to run away;
See nought but halters rise to view
In all your dreams (and dreams are true;)
And while these phantom's haunt your brains,
Bow down the willing neck to chains.
Heav'ns! are ye sons of sires so great,
Immortal in the fields of fate,
Who brav'd all deaths by land or sea,
Who bled who conquer'd to be free!
Hence! coward souls, the worst disgrace
Of our forefathers' valliant race;
Hie homeward from the glorious field;
There turn the wheel, the distaff wield;
Act what ye are, nor dare to stain
The warrior's arms with touch profane:
There beg your more heroic wives
To guard your children and your lives;
Beneath their aprons find a screen,
Nor dare to mingle more with men."
"As thus he said, the Tories' anger
Could now restrain itself no longer,
Who tried before by many a freak, or
Insulting noise to stop the speaker;
Swung th' unoil'd hinge of each pew-door;
Their feet kept shuffling on the floor:
Made their disapprobation known
By many a murmer, hum, and groan,
That to his speech supplied the place
Of counterpart in thorough-base:
As bag-pipes, while the tune they breathe,
Still drone and grumble underneath;
Or as the fam'd Demosthenes
Harangu'd the rumbling of the seas,
Held forth with eloquence full grave
To audience loud of wind and wave;
And had a stiller congregation
Than Tories are to hear th' oration.
But now the storm grew high and louder,
As nearer thund'rings of a cloud are,
And ev'ry soul with heart and voice
Supplied his quota of the noise;
Each list'ning ear was set on torture
Each Tory bell'wing out, to order:
And some, with tongue not low or weak,
Were clam'ring fast, for leave to speak;
The moderator, with great vi'lence,
The cushion thump'd with "Silence! silence!"
The constable to ev'ry prater
Bawl'd out, "Pray hear the moderator;"
Some call'd the vote, and some, in turn,
Were screaming high "Adjourn, adjourn."
Not chaos heard such jars and clashes
When all the el'ments fought for places.
Each bludgeon soon for blows was tim'd;
Each fist stood ready cock'd and prim'd;
The storm each moment louder grew;
His sword the great M'Fingal drew,
Prepar'd in either chance to share,
To keep the peace, or aid the war.
Nor lack'd they each poetic being,
Whom bards alone are skill'd in seeing;
Plum'd Victory stood perch'd on high,
Upon the pulpit-canopy,
To join, as is her custom tried,
Like Indians, on the strongest side;
The Destinies with shears and Distaff,
Drew near, their threads of life to twist off;
The Furies 'gan to feast on blows,
And broken heads or bloody nose;
When on a sudden, from without,
Arose a loud terrific shout;
And strait the people all at once heard
Of tongues an universal concert;
Like Aesop's times, as fable runs,
When ev'ry creature talk'd at once;
Or like the variegated gabble
That craz'd the carpenters of Babel.
Each party soon forgot the quarrel,
And let the other go on parole;
Eager to know what fearful matter
Had conjur'd up such gen'ral clatter;
And left the church in thin array,
As tho' it had been lecture-day.
Our 'Squire M'Fingal straightway beckon'd
The constable to stand his second,
And sallied forth with aspect fierce
The croud assembled to disperse.
The moderator, out of view
Beneath a bench, had lain perdue;
Peep'd up his head to view the fray,
Beheld the wranglers run away,
And, left alone, with solemn face,
Adjourn'd them without time or place.