The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 35

There's Loudon[252] and Kollock,[253] these strong bulls of Bashan, Are striving to hook me away from my station, And Holt,[254] all at once, is as wonderful great As if none but himself was to print for the State.

Ye all are convinc'd I'd a right to expect That a sinner returning you would not reject-- Quite sick of the scarlet and slaves of the throne, 'Tis now at your option to make me your own.

Suppose I had gone with the Tories and rabble To starve, or be drown'd on the shoals of cape Sable, I had suffer'd, 'tis true--but I'll have you to know, You nothing had gain'd by the voice of my woe.

You say that with grief and dejection of heart I pack'd up my awls with a view to depart, That my shelves were dismantled, my cellars unstor'd, My boxes afloat, and my hampers on board:

And hence you infer (I am sure without reason) That a right you possess to entangle my weazon-- Yet your barns I ne'er burnt, nor your blood have I spilt, And my terror alone was no proof of my guilt.

The charge may be true--for I found it in vain To lean on a staff that was broken in twain, And ere I had gone at Port Roseway to fix, I had chose to sell drams on the margin of Styx.

I confess, that, with shame and contrition opprest, I sign'd an agreement to go with the rest, But ere they weigh'd anchor to sail their last trip, I saw they were vermin, and gave them the slip.

Now, why you should call me the worst man alive, On the word of a convert, I cannot contrive, Though turn'd a plain honest republican, still You own me no proslelyte, do what I will.

My paper is alter'd--good people, don't fret; I call it no longer the _Royal Gazette_:[255]

To me a great monarch has lost all his charms, I have pull'd down his Lion, and trampled his Arms.

While fate was propitious, I thought they might stand, You know I was zealous for George's command, But since he disgrac'd it, and left us behind, If I thought him an angel--I've alter'd my mind.

On the very same day that his army went hence I ceas'd to tell lies for the sake of his pence; And what was the reason--the true one is best-- I worship no suns when they move to the west:

In this I resemble a Turk or a Moor, Bright Phoebus ascending, I prostrate adore; And, therefore, excuse me for printing some lays, An ode or a sonnet in Washington's praise.

His prudence alone[256] has preserv'd your dominions, This bravest and boldest of all the Virginians!

And when he is gone--I p.r.o.nounce it with pain-- We scarcely shall meet with his equal again.[257]

Old Plato a.s.serted that life is a dream And man but a shadow (whate'er he may seem)[258]

By which it is plain he intended to say That man, like a shadow, must vanish away:

If this be the fact, in relation to man, And if each one is striving to get what he can, I hope, while I live, you will all think it best, To allow me to bustle along with the rest.

A view of my life, though some parts might be solemn, Would make, on the whole, a ridiculous volume: In the life that's hereafter (to speak with submission) I hope I shall publish a better edition:

Even swine you permit to subsist in the street;-- You pity a dog that lies down to be beat-- Then forget what is past--for the year's at a close-- And men of my age have some need of repose.

PART II

But as to the Tories that yet may remain, They scarcely need give you a moment of pain: What dare they attempt when their masters are fled;-- When the soul is departed who wars with the dead?

Poor souls! for the love of the king and his nation They have had their full quota of mortification; Wherever they fought, or whatever they won The dream's at an end--the delusion is done.

The Temple you rais'd was so wonderful large Not one of them thought you could answer the charge, It seem'd a mere castle constructed of vapour, Surrounded with gibbets and founded on Paper.

On the basis of freedom you built it too strong!

And Clinton[259] confess'd, when you held it so long, That if any thing human the fabric could shatter The _Royal Gazette_ must accomplish the matter.[A]

[A] "Si Pergama dextra Defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent."--_Virg._ --_Freneau's note._

An engine like that, in such hands as my own Had shaken king Codjoe[B] himself from his throne, In another rebellion had ruin'd the Scot, While the Pope and Pretender had both gone to pot.

[B] The Negro king in Jamaica, whom the English declared independent in 1739. See our _Freeman's Journal_, No. 37, for the treaty.--_Freneau's note in 1783._

If you stood my attacks, I have nothing to say-- I fought, like the Swiss, for the sake of my pay; But while I was proving your fabric unsound Our vessel miss'd stay, and we all went aground.

Thus ended in ruin what madness begun, And thus was our nation disgrac'd and undone, Renown'd as we were, and the lords of the deep, If our outset was folly, our exit was sleep.

A dominion like this, that some millions had cost!-- The king might have wept when he saw it was lost;-- This jewel--whose value I cannot describe; This pearl--that was richer than all his Dutch tribe.

When the war came upon us, you very well knew My income was small and my riches were few-- If your money was scarce, and your prospects were bad, Why hinder me printing for people that had?

'Twould have pleas'd you, no doubt, had I gone with a few setts Of books, to exist in your cold Ma.s.sachusetts; Or to wander at Newark, like ill fated Hugh, Not a shirt to my back, nor a soal to my shoe.

Now, if we mistook (as we did, it is plain) Our error was owing to wicked Hugh Gaine, For he gave us such scenes of your starving and strife As prov'd that his pictures were drawn from the life.

On the waves of the Styx had he rode quarantine, He could not have look'd more infernally lean Than the day, when returning dismay'd and distrest, Like the doves to their windows, he flew to his nest.[260]

The part that he[261] acted, by some men of sense Was wrongfully held to be malice propense, When to all the world it was perfectly plain, One principle rul'd him[262]--a pa.s.sion for gain.

You pretend I have suffer'd no loss in the cause, And have, therefore, no right to partake of your laws: Some people love talking--I find to my cost, I too am a loser--my character's lost![263]

Nay, did not your printers repeatedly stoop To descant and reflect on my Portable Soup?

At me have your porcupines darted the quill, You have plunder'd my Office,[C] and publish'd my Will.[264]

[C] November, 1775.--_Freneau's note._ On November 27, 1775, a band of armed men, under Sears of Connecticut, entered the city on horseback, destroyed his press and scattered his types.

Resolv'd upon mischief, you held it no crime To steal my _Reflections_,[265] and print them in rhyme, When all the world knew, or at least they might guess, That the time to reflect was no time to confess;[266]

You never consider'd my children and wife,[267]

That my lot was to toil and to struggle[268] through life; My windows you broke--they are all on a jar, And my house you have made a mere old man of war.

And still you insist I've no right to complain!-- Indeed if I do, I'm afraid it's in vain-- Yet am willing to hope you're too learnedly read To hang up a printer for being misled.

If this be your aim, I must think of a flight-- In less than a month I must bid you good-night, And hurry away to that whelp ridden sh.o.r.e Where Clinton and Carleton retreated before.

From signs in the sky, and from tokens on land I'm inclin'd to suspect my departure's at hand: The man in the moon is unusually big, And Inglis, they tell me, has grown a good Whig.[269]

For many days past, as the town can attest, The tail of the weather-c.o.c.k hung to the west--[270]

My shop, the last evening, seem'd all in a blaze, And a hen crow'd at midnight, my waiting man says;

Even then, as I lay with strange whims in my head, A ghost hove in sight, not a yard from my bed, It seem'd Gen'ral Robertson,[271] brawly array'd, But I grasp'd at the substance, and found him a shade!

He appear'd as of old, when, head of the throng, And loaded with laurels, he waddled along-- He seem'd at the foot of my bedstead to stand And cry'd--"Jemmy Rivington, reach me your hand;

"And Jemmy, (said he) I am sorry to find "Some demon advis'd you to loiter behind; "The country is hostile--you had better get off it, "Here's nothing but squabbles, all plague and no profit!

"Since the day that Sir William came here with his throng "He manag'd things so that they always went wrong, "And tho' for his knighthood, he kept Meschianza, "I think he was nothing but mere Sancho Panca.