And there we see a thousand men,

As rich as 'Squire David;

And what they wasted every day
I wish it could be saved.

The 'lasses they eat every day
Would keep an house a winter;
They have as much that, I'll be bound,
They eat it when they're a mind to.

And there we see a swamping gun,
Large as a log of maple,
Upon a deuced little cart,

A load for father's cattle.

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;
And father went as nigh again,

I thought the deuce was in him.

Cousin Simon grew so bold,

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I thought he would have cocked it; 30
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.

And there I see a pumpkin shell
As big as mother's bason;
And every time they touched it off,
They scampered like the nation.

I see a little barrel too,

The heads were made of leather,
They knocked upon 't with little clubs
And called the folks together.

And there was Captain Washington,
And gentlefolks 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,
He set the world along in rows,
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.

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YANKEE DOODLE'S EXPEDITION
TO RHODE ISLAND

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.

He took his wallet on his back,
His rifle on his shoulder,

And veowed Rhode Island to attack,
Before he was much older.

In dread array their tattered crew
Advanced with colors spread, sir,
Their fifes played Yankee doodle, doo,
King Hancock at their head, sir.

What numbers bravely crossed the seas,
I can not well determine,

A swarm of rebels and of fleas,
And every other vermin.

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He swore that they, with his alliance,
To all the world might bid defiance;
Of lawful rule there was an end on't,
And frogs were henceforth-independent.

At which the croakers, one and all,
Proclaimed a feast, and festival!
But joy to-day brings grief to-morrow;
Their feasting o'er, now enter sorrow! 40

The Stork grew hungry, longed for fish;
The monarch could not have his wish;
In rage he to the marshes flies,
And makes a meal of his allies.

WAR AND WASHINGTON
J. M. SEWALL

Vain Britons, boast no longer with proud indignity,

By land your conquering legions, your matchless strength at sea.

Since we, your braver sons incensed, our swords have girded on,

Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza, for war and
Washington.

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.

Still deaf to mild entreaties, still blind to England's good,

You have for thirty pieces betrayed your country's blood.

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Yet think not thirst of glory unsheaths our vengeful swords

To rend your bands asunder, and cast away your cords.

'Tis heaven-born freedom fires us all, and strengthens each brave son, From him who humbly guides the plough, to godlike Washington.

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.

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