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The wind it being leading,
It bore us on our way, As far unto the southward
As the Gulf of Florida; Where we fell in with a British ship,
Bound homeward from the main ; We gave her two bow-chasers,
And she returned the same.
Till British pride and glory
No longer dared to stay,
And quickly bore away.
As plainly might appear;
On board our privateer. Mahoney, Crew, and Clemmons,
The valiant and the brave, Fell glorious in the contest,
And met a watery grave. Ten other men were wounded
Among our warlike crew, With them our noble captain,
To whom all praise is due; To him and all our officers
Let's give a hearty cheer; Success to fair America And our good privateer.
We hauled up our courses,
And so prepared for fight;
Until the dusk of night;
And had so large a sea,
Till the returning day. Next morn we fished our main-mast,
The ship still being nigh, All hands made for engaging
Our chance once more to try; But wind and sea being boisterous
Our cannon would not bear, We thought it quite imprudent
And so we left her there.
A. BIRTHDAY SONG
Jonathan ODELL Composed at New York, in honour of the an. niversary of the King's birthday, June 4th, 1777: and printed in the Gentleman's Magazine for
We cruised to the eastward,
Near the coast of Portugal, In longitude of twenty-seven
We saw a lofty sail; We gave her chase, and soon perceived
She was a British snow Standing for fair America,
With troops for General Howe. Our captain did inspect her
With glasses, and he said,
But be you not afraid;
See everything is clear,
As soon as she comes near.'
Time was when America hallow'd the
morn On which the lov'd monarch of Britain
was born Hallow'd the day, and joyfully chanted
God save the King ! Then Aourish'd the blessings of freedom
She was prepared with nettings,
And her men were well secured, And bore directly for us,
And put us close on board; When the cannon roared like thunder,
And the muskets fired amain, But soon we were along-side
And grappled to her chain. And now the scene it altered,
The cannon ceased to roar, We fought with swords and boarding
pikes One gladd or something more,
And plenty flow'd in with a yearly inProud of our lot we chanted merrily
Glory and joy crown the King ! With envy beheld by the nations around, We rapidly grew, nor was anything found Able to check our growth while we chanted
God save the King ! O blest beyond measure, had honour and
truth Still nursed in our hearts what they
planted in youth! Loyalty still had chanted merrily
Glory and joy crown the King ! But see! how rebellion has lifted her
head! How honour and truth are with loyalty
Few are there now who join us in chant
God save the King ! And see! how deluded the multitude fly To arm in a cause that is built on a lye! Yet are we proud to chant thus merrily
Glory and joy crown the King ! Though faction by falsehood awhile may
prevail ! And loyalty suffers a captive in jail; Britain is rouz'd, rebellion is falling :
God save the King! The captive shall soon be releas'd from
his chain : And conquest restore us to Britain again, Ever to join in chanting merrily, Glory and joy crown the King !
June 4, 1777.
THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE 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.
A PASTORAL SONG
Pervades each once happy retreat
With those who her praises repeat; The good from the crowd may retire
And follow sweet peace to the grove Where virtue rekindles her fire
And raises an altar to love.
To such as stayed he offers made
Of "pardon on submission : But savage bands should waste the lands
Of all in opposition.”
Our great Independence we give to the
wind, And pray that Great Britain may once
more be kind, In this jovial song all hostility ends, And Britons and we will for ever be
friends. Derry down, etc.
THE EPILOGUE Our farce is now finished, your sport's
at an end, But ere you depart, let the voice of a
friend, By way of a chorus the evening crown, With a song to the tune of a hey derry
down. Derry down, down, hey derry down. Old Shakespeare, a poet who should not
be spit on, Altho' he was born in the island called
Briton, Hath said that mankind are all players
at best, A truth we'll admit of, for the sake of
the jest. Derry down, etc. On this puny stage we have strutted our
hour, And have acted our parts to the best of
our power. That the farce has concluded not perfectly
well Was surely the fault of the Devil in Hell.
Derry down, etc.
Good night, my good people, retire to
your houses, Fair ladies, I beg you convince your fair
spouses, That Britons and we are united in bliss, And ratify all with a conjugal kiss.
Derry down, etc.
Once more, here's a health to the King
and the Queen, Confusion to him who in rancor and
York, Oct. 24, 1778.
This Devil, you know, out of spleen to
the church, Will often times leave his best friends in
the lurch, And turn them adrift in the midst of
their joy; 'Tis a difficult matter to cheat the old
boy. Derry down, etc.
And every time they shoot it off,
It takes a horn of powder, And makes a noise like father's gun,
Only a nation louder.
I went as nigh to one myself
As Siah's underpinning;
I thought the deuce was in him.
I thought he would have cocked it; It scared me so, I shrinked it off,
And hung by father's pocket. And Captain Davis has a gun,
He kind of clapt his hand on't, And stuck a crooked stabbing iron
Upon the little end on't.
As big as mother's bason;
They scampered like the nation.
The heads were made of leather, They knocked upon 't with little clubs
And called the folks together.
From Lewis, Monsieur Gerard came,
To Congress in this town, sir, They bowed to him, and he to them,
And then they all sat down, sir. Begar, said Monsieur, one grand coup
You shall bientot behold, sir; This was believed as gospel true,
And Jonathan felt bold, sir. So Yankee Doodle did forget
The sound of British drum, sir, How oft it made him quake and sweat,
In spite of Yankee rum, sir.
His rifle on his shoulder,
Before he was much older.
Advanced with colors spread, sir, Their fifes played Yankee doodle, doo,
King Hancock at their head, sir.
I can not well determine,
And every other vermin.
thought, For all flesh only grass is, A plenteous store they therefore brought
Of whiskey and molasses. They swore they'd make bold Pigot
squeak, So did their good ally, sir, And take him prisoner in a week,
But that was all my eye, sir. As Jo athan so much desired
To shine in martial story, D'Estaing with politeness retired.,
To leave him all the glory.
And there was Captain Washington,
And gentle folks about him, They say he's grown so tarnal proud
He will not ride without 'em.
He got him on his meeting clothes,
Upon a slapping stallion,
In hundreds and in millions.
The flaming ribbons in his hat,
They looked so tearing fine ah, I wanted pockily to get,
To give to my Jemimah.