Tired out with happiness, the frogs “Famed, as we are, for faith and prayer, We merit sure peculiar care; But can we think great good was meant us, When logs for Governors were sent us? "Which numbers crushed they fell upon, And caused great fear,-till one by one, As courage came, we boldly faced 'em, Then leaped upon 'em, and disgraced 'em! A CRY TO BATTLE J. M. SEWALL Ye see mankind the same in every age; Heroic fortitude, tyrannic rage, Boundless ambition, patriotic truth, And hoary treason, and untainted youth, Have deeply marked all periods and all climes : The noblest virtues, and the blackest crimes ! Britannia's daring sins and virtues both, Perhaps once marked the Vandal and the Goth, And what now gleams with dawning ray at home Once blazed in full-orbed ` majesty at Rome. Did Cæsar, drunk with power, and madly brave, Insatiate burn, his country to enslave? Did he for this lead forth a servile host, And spill the choicest blood that Rome could boast? 10 "We pray for peace, but wish confusion, Urged on by North and vengeance those valiant champions came, Loud bellowing Tea and Treason, and George was all on flame, Yet sacrilegious as it seems, we rebels still live on, And laugh at all their empty puffs, huzza for Washington. Fired with the great idea, our Fathers' shades would rise, To view the stern contențion, the gods desert their skies; And Wolfe, 'midst hosts of heroes, supe rior bending down, Cry out with eager transport, God save great Washington. Should George, the choice of Britons, to foreign realms apply, And madly arm half Europe, yet still we would defy Turk. Hessian, Jew, and Infidel, or all those powers in one, While Adams guides our senate, our camp great Washington! Mysterious! unexampled! incomprehen sible! The blundering schemes of Britain their folly, pride, and zeal, 40 1 Should warlike weapons fail us, disdain ing slavish fears, To swords we'll beat our ploughshares, our pruning-hooks to spears, And rush, all desperate! on our foe, nor breathe till battle won, Then shout, and shout America! and con quering Washington! Last year rebellion proudly stood, Elate, in her meridian glory; But this shall quench her pride in blood George will avenge each martyr'd Tory. Then bring us wine, full bumpers bring : Hail this New Year in joyful chorus; God bless great George, our gracious king, And crush rebellion down before us. 'Tis New Year's morn; why should we part? Why not enjoy what heaven has sent us? Let wine expand the social heart, Let friends, and mirth, and wine content us. Rivington's Royal Gasette, Jan. 2, 1779. 30 Proud France should view with terror, and haughty Spain revere, While every, warlike nation would court alliance here; And George, his minions trembling round, dismounting from his throne, Pay homage to America and glorious Washington. From "Cato," 1778. THE PRESENT AGE Of all the ages ever known, The present is the oddest; For all the men are honest grown, And all the women modest. THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW: A PROPHECY J. ODELL (?) What though last year be past and gone, Why should we grieve or mourn about it? As good a year is now begun, And better, too,-let no one doubt it. 'Tis New Year's morn; why should we part? Why not enjoy what heaven has sent us? Let wine expand the social heart, Let friends, and mirth, and wine content us. Nor lawyers now are fond of fees, Nor clergy of their dues, No idle people now one sees, At church no empty pews. No courtiers now their friends deceive With promises of favor; For what they made 'em once believe Is done and done forever. 10 20 War's rude alarms disturb'd last year; Our country bled and wept around us; But this each honest heart shall cheer, II And peace and plenty shall surround us. Last year saw many honest men Torn from each dear and sweet con nection : But this shall see them home again, And happy in their King's protection. Last year “King Congo" through the land, Display'd his thirteen stripes to fright us; But George's power, in Clinton's hand, In this New Year shall surely right us. Last year vain Frenchmen brav'd our coasts, And baffled Howe, and scap'd from Byron; But this shall bring their vanquish'd hosts To crouch beneath the British lion. 20 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. For politics or news; Through interested views. For mugs of mantling nappy ; Where all are pleased and happy. 30 What pains were taken to procure D'Es taing! His fleet's dispers'd, and Congress may go hang. 40 10 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; Are cheap on every hand. Nor crowd the roads on Sunday; Obtain a respite one day. Is grown quite out of fashion ; It flies all lawless passion. So void of wants and crimes; Oh! these are glorious times. Cries Tom) are mighty high, sir; I think they're all a lie, sir. Then take another light on't; The Freeman's Journal or the New Hampshire Gasette, 1779. Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves ca jold! Heav'ns King sends forth the hurricane and strips Of all their glory the perfidious ships. His Ministers of Wrath the storm direct: Nor can the Prince of Air his French pro tect, St. George, St. David show'd themselves true hearts; St. Andrew and St. Patrick topp'd their parts. With right Eolian puffs the wind they blew; Crack went the masts; the sails to shivers flew. Such honest saints shall never be forgot: St. Dennis, and St. Tammany go rot. 50 20 60 THE CONGRATULATION JONATHAN ODELL Dii boni, boni quid porto.-TERENCE. Joy to Great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves cajol'd ! In vain has [Franklin's) artifice been tried, And Louis swellid with treachery and pride : Who reigns supreme in heav'n deception spurns, And on the author's head the mischief turns. 1 Written by Rev. Dr. Odell, on occasion of the failure of the great expectations entertained by the Americans from the presence in our waters of D’Estaing's fleet during the vears 1778 and 1779. This piece appears to have been very popular at the period, being printe New York in Rivington's Royal Gazette of Novemher 6th, 1779; and again in the Supplement of November 24th.---(WINTHROP SARGENT'S Note.) Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves ca jol'd! Old Satan holds a council in mid-air; Hear the black Dragon furious rage and swear-Are these the triumphs of my Gallic friends? How will you ward this blow, my trusty fiends? What remedy for this unlucky job? What art shall raise the spirits of the mob? Fly swift, ye sure supporters of my realm, Ere this ill-news the rebels overwhelm. 30 Invent, say anything to make them mad; Tell them the King-No, Dev'ls are not so bad; The dogs of Congress at the king let loose; But ye, brave Dev'ls, avoid such mean abuse. Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves ca jold! What thinks Sir Washington of this mis chance; Blames he not those, who put their trust in France ? 38 A broken reed comes pat into his mind : Egypt and France by rushes are defined. Basest of Kingdoms underneath the skies, Kingdoms that could not profit their al lies. How could the tempest play him such a prank? Blank is his prospect, and his visage blank: Why from West Point his armies has he brought? Can naught be done? sore sighs he at the thought. Back to his mountains Washington may trot: He take this city-yes, when Ice is hot. The Lord, who taught our fingers how to fight, For this denied to curb the tempest's might: Our paper coin refus'd for flour we see, And lawyers will not take it for a fee. Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves ca jol'd! What caus'd the French from Parker's fleet to steal? They wanted thirty thousand casks of meal. 80 Where are they now-can mortal man reply? Who finds them out must have a Lynx's eye. Some place them in the ports of Chesa peak: Others account them bound to Martin ique; Some think to Boston they intend to go; And some suppose them in the deep be low. One thing is certain, be they where they will, They keep their triumph most exceeding still. They have not even Pantagruel's luck, Who conquer'd two old women and a duck. 50 Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves ca jol'd! Ah, poor militia of the Jersey state, Your hopes are bootless, you are come too late, Your four hours plunder of New York is fled, And grievous hunger haunts you in its stead. Sorrow and sighing seize the Yankee race, When the brave Briton looks them in the face: The brawny Hessian, the bold Refugee, Appear in arms, and lo! the rebels flee; Each in his bowels griping spankue feels; Each drops his haversack, and trusts his heels. Scamp'ring and scouring o'er the fields they run, And here you find a sword, and there a gun. 90 60 Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves ca jol'd! How long shall the deluded people look For the French squadron moor'd at Sandy Hook? Of all their hopes the comfort and the stay, This vile deceit at length must pass away. What imposition can be thought on next, To cheer their partizans, with doubt per plex'd ? Dollars on dollars heap'd up to the skies, Their value sinks the more, the more they rise; Bank notes of bankrupts, struck without a fund, Puff'd for a season, will at last be shunn'd. Call forth invention, ye renown'd in guile; New falsehoods frame in matter, and in style; Send some enormous fiction to the press; Again prepare the circular address; Joy to great Congress, joy an hundred fold: The grand cajolers are themselves ca jol'd! The doleful tidings Philadelphia reach, And Duffield cries—The wicked make a breach! Members of Congress in confusion meet, And with pale countenance each other greet. -No comfort, brother?-Brother, none at all, Fall'n is our tower: yea, broken down our wall. Oh brother, things are at a dreadful pass : Brother, we sinn’d in going to the Mass. 100 70 |