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.
Invent, say any thing 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 cajol'd!
What thinks Sir Washington of this mischance;
Blames he not those, who put their trust in France?
A broken reed comes pat into his mind:
Egypt and France by rushes are defin'd,
Basest of Kingdoms underneath the skies,
Kingdoms that could not profit their allies.
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 nought be done? - sore sighs he at the thought.
Back to his mountains Washington may trot:
He take this city—yes, when Ice is hot.
[By Henry Archer (?). 1780]
Hence with the lover who sighs o'er his wine,
Cloes and Phillises toasting,
Hence with the slave who will whimper and whine,
Of ardor and constancy boasting.
Hence with love's joys,
Follies and noise,
The toast that I give is the Volunteer Boys.
Nobles and beauties and such common toasts,
Those who admire may drink, sir;
Fill up the glass to the volunteer hosts,
Who never from danger will shrink, sir.
Let mirth appear,
The toast that I give is the brave volunteer.
Here's to the squire who goes to parade
Here's to the citizen soldier;
Here's to the merchant who fights for his trade,
Whom danger increasing makes bolder.
Let mirth appear,
The toast that I give is the brave volunteer.
Here's to the lawyer, who, leaving the bar,
Hastens where honor doth lead, sir,
Changing the gown for the ensigns of war,
The cause of his country to plead, sir.
Freedom appears,
And calls for the health of the law volunteers.
Here's to the soldier, though batter'd in wars,
And safe to his farm-house retir'd;
When called by his country, ne'er thinks of his scars,
With ardor to join us inspir'd.
Bright fame appears,
Trophies uprear,
To veteran chiefs who became volunteers.
Here's to the farmer who dares to advance
To harvests of honor with pleasure;
Who with a slave the most skilful in France,
A sword for his country would measure.
Hence with cold fear,
Heroes rise here;
The ploughman is chang'd to the stout volunteer.
Here's to the peer, first in senate and field,
Whose actions to titles add grace, sir;
Whose spirit undaunted would never yet yield
To a foe, to a pension or place, sir.
Gratitude here,
Who adds to his titles, "the brave volunteer."
Thus the bold bands for old Jersey's defence,
The muse hath with rapture review'd, sir;
With our volunteer boys, as our verses commence,
With our volunteer boys they conclude, sir.
Discord or noise,
But health and success to the volunteer boys.
Cornwallis led a country dance,
The like was never seen, sir,
Much retrograde and much advance,
And all with General Greene, sir.
They rambled up and rambled down,
Join'd hands, then off they run, sir,
Our General Greene to Charlestown,
The earl to Wilmington, sir.
Greene, in the South, then danc'd a set,
And got a mighty name, sir,
Cornwallis jigg'd with young Fayette,
But suffer'd in his fame, sir.
Then down he figur'd to the shore,
Most like a lordly dancer,
And on his courtly honor swore,
He would no more advance, sir.
Quoth he, my guards are weary grown
With footing country dances,
They never at St. James's shone,
At capers, kicks or prances.
Though men so gallant ne'er were seen,
While sauntering on parade, sir,
Or wriggling o'er the park's smooth green,
Or at a masquerade, sir.
Yet are red heels and long-lac'd skirts,
For stumps and briars meet, sir?
Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts,
Or hardy veteran feet, sir?
Now hous'd in York he challeng'd all,
At minuet or all 'amande,
And lessons for a courtly ball,
His guards by day and night conn'd.
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 jigged to our shore, sir.
Now Tories all, what can ye say?
Come - is not this a griper,
That while your hopes are danc'd away, 'Tis you must pay the piper.
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