The word of Congress, like a round of beef,
To hungry Satire gives a sure relief;
No trifling tid-bits to delude the pen,
But solid victuals, cut and come again.
Whitfield 'tis said, this simile was thine;
Unapt for thy discourse, it suits with mine.
O P — — n, I should think it joy supreme
To win thy kind attention to my theme,
To cheer thy heart with native humour fraught,
And steal thee from the painful task of thought:
Oft has thy lib'ral, thy capacious mind,
Griev'd for the wicked, sorrow'd for the blind,
Deplor'd past errors, present ills bemoan'd,
And anxious for the future deeply groan'd.
Were it not best to quit these gloomy views,
And join the sportfull sallies of the muse;
Smile at those evils we must both endure,
And laugh at follies, which we cannot cure:
Come friend, and let us mock, till mirth be stir'd
In every vein, the many colour'd word.
Oh! 'tis a word of pow'r, of prime account,
I've seen it like the daring Osprey mount;
I've seen it like a dirty reptile creep,
Rush into flame, or plunge into the deep;
I've heard it like a hungry lion roar,
Who tears the prey, and bathes himself in gore —
I've felt it softer than the vernal rain
Mildly descending on the grassy plain —
I've heard it pious as a saint in pray'r —
I've heard it like an angry trooper swear —
I've known it suit itself to every plan —
I've known it lie to God and lie to man.
Have you not read the marvellous escapes,
Of Proteus shifting to a thousand shapes;
Have you not seen the wonders of the stage,
When pantomime delights a trifling age;
Such and more various, such and more absurd,
Charles Thompson witness of the changeful word,
He'll sign to any thing no matter what —
At truth alone his pen would make a blot.
There dwelt in Norriton's sequester'd bow'rs,
A mortal blest with mathematic pow'rs,
To whom was David Rittenhouse unknown,
Fair science saw, and mark'd him for her own.
His eye creation to its bounds would trace,
His mind, the regions of unbounded space:
Whilst thus he soar'd above the starry spheres,
The word of Congress sounded in his ears;
He listen'd to the voice with strange delight,
And swift descended from his dazling height,
Then mixing eager with seditious tools,
Vice-President elect of rogues and fools;
His hopes resign'd of philosophic fame,
A paltry statesman Rittenhouse became.
A saint of old, as learned monks have said,
Preach'd to the fish — the fish his voice obey'd —
The same good man conven'd the grunting herd,
Who bow'd obedient to his pow'rful word —
Such energy had truth in days of yore,
Falsehood and nonsense in our days have more.
Duffield avows them to be all in all,
And mounts or quits the pulpit at their call —
In vain new light displays her heav'nly shine,
In vain attract him oracles divine;
Chaplain of Congress give him to become,
Light may be dark and oracles be dumb —
It pleas'd Saint Anthony to preach to brutes,
To preach to Devils best with Duffield suits.
Tim Matlack once had credit and esteem —
His follies made them vanish as a dream —
By all his sober friends abandon'd quite,
Game-cocks and negroes were his whole delight.
Vagrant, and poor, his reputations slurr'd,
He hasten'd to obey the factious word:
Who now so active in the cause as Tim —
Tho' death to honour, it was life to him —
Restor'd to consequence tho' not to grace,
Behold him fill the secretary's place —
His pen can write you paragraphs by scores,
His valour kick two Quakers out of doors,
Tim for their champion let the People dub,
Yet virtue still must hold him for a scrub.
Kerr, and Carmichael, schismatics obscure,
Who deem that all things to the pure are pure,
Hag-rid by Congress, by sedition spur'd,
Desert the bible to proclaim the word;
Such force attends the fascinating sound,
Murder is sainted, perjury renown'd.
Spencer and Caldwell, evangelic pair,
This a smooth serpent, that a furious bear;
With equal zeal but different cast of head,
Prepar'd the doctrine of the word to spread.
One on the thunder of his tongue relied,
The other wisely to his pen applied.
Figures and tropes rough Spencer chose to pour,
Arabian figures suited Caldwell more;
The first was bold in treasonable talk,
The second took the commissary's walk;
Both were detested, as they both deserv'd,
But whilst the penman throve, the spokesman starv'd:
Spencer a martyr falls to rage and rum,
Whilst Caldwell snug retires with half a plumb.
Tucker from want, and dirt, and darkness sprung,
Of formal face, and Oliverian tongue,
'Scap'd from the gallows, gain'd the mob's esteem,
But no promotion could from fraud redeem;
No rank his heart to honesty could fix,
Still graceless he pursued his native tricks:
Now rose against him the tumultuous din,
The dev'l himself can sometimes rail at sin;
Too much a knave for knaves thenselves to bear,
Abhorr'd by all men Tucker quits the chair.
Paschal, who never right from wrong could tell,
Who never yet could read, or write, or spell,
From last, from awl, from cutting knife is torn,
Whilst tanners weep, and half-shod soldiers mourn.
He's now a Justice — Wherefore should we grudge —
When Cong reigns King, a Cobler may be Judge.
These are poor characters — Rise Satire, rise
And seize on villains of superior size:
Let censure reach to Shippen and to Yates,
Or dignify the verse with Green and Gates;
Expose the meanness of the P — — 's to view,
Or strike at Willing, Hamilton, and Chew,
Macdougal, Maxwell, Muhlenberg attack,
Or Baylor clad in white, or Knox in black,
Or blast Poughkeepsie's Lord, who soils a name —
That never but in him was doom'd to shame;
Or vengeful draw the weapon from the sheath
And plunge it in the murd'rous breast of Heath.
The blust'rer, the poltroon, the vile, the weak,
Who fight for Congress, or in Congress speak,
Or to its edicts cowardly submit,
Alike should undergo the lash of wit.
Come Mifflin, let me post thee on the page —
As thou with Britain, war with thee I wage.
Fierce Mifflin foremost in the ranks was found —
Ask you the cause? — He owed ten thousand pound.
Great thanks to Congress, and its doughty word,
He cancell'd debts by flourishing his sword —
Not that he cares for Congress, or its voice,
Broils are his int'rest — tumult is his choice —
But that he wants the necessary skill
A pliant people to inflame at will;
But that his genius yields to Roberdeau
In every art of managing the low;
Confusion would in aid of justice rise,
Revenge the widow's groans, the orphan's cries,
The robbers of their ill-got treasure rob,
And give Joe Reed a victim to the mob.
Gates I have nam'd, but have not yet forsook —
Step forward Gates, and tremble at my look.
Can'st thou, most harden'd tho' thou art, sustain
The glance of anger mingled with disdain.
I've seen thy father — has thy pride forgot —
Mean was his office — very mean his lot —
A gracious Master overlook'd thy birth
And rais'd thee far above the dregs of earth.
Each act of favour how hast thou return'd,
How all the laws of sacred honour spurn'd,
What vile ingratitude thy soul has shown,
Is fit for devils to relate alone.
Go hide, abandon'd monster, hide thy head —
Go fly, if fly thou can'st, from inward dread —
Call cliffs, call mountains on thee to descend —
But rocks nor hills from terror shall defend —
In hell seek refuge, — even there thou'lt find
A fiercer hell hot-burning in thy mind.
Where, where is Sinclair? Takes he to his heels?
Blows aim'd at Gates by instinct Sinclair feels.
He too fought nobly in his country's cause;
He too the sword against his Sov'reign draws —
Like Gates entangled in rebellion's snare,
He too like him should tremble, and despair.
What comfort can they hope, what peace deserve,
Who forfeit virtue, and from duty swerve?
Avenging furies shall their steps pursue
Till chas'd from earth they join th' infernal crew.
Schuyler, whose meanness in the prime of life,
Allow'd old Bradstreet to pollute his wife,
Who still, regardless of the filthy blot,
Owns all the bastards, which the letcher got —
In age, and equally to honour's grief,
From a tame cuckold grows a rebel chief. —
O may no saucy cannons round him roar,
No rude court-martials vex his quiet more —
His days awhile good destiny secure,
Tho' stinking, great, and wealthy, tho' impure.
Yes, let him live, kind fate, but live abhorr'd
Till justice fastens to his neck the cord.
Amidst ten thousand eminently base
Thou Sullivan assume the highest place,
Sailor, and farmer, — barrister of vogue;
Each state was thine, and thou in each a rogue —
Ambition came, and swallow'd in a trice,
Like Aaron's rod, the reptile fry of vice —
One giant passion then his soul possess'd,
And dreams of lawless sway disturb'd his rest.
He gave each wild imagination scope,
And flew to Congress on the wings of hope.
Behold him there, but still behold him curst —
He sat in Congress, but he sat not first —
What could the fever of his mind compose?
Make him a Gen'ral — Gen'ral straight he grows.
Head of a shirtless, shoeless gang he strides,
While folly stares, and laughter shakes his sides.
And must I sing the wonders of his might?
What are they? Rout, captivity, and flight. —
Rhode-Island saw him to her forts advance,
Assisted by the ships of faithless France —
Rhode-Island saw him shamefully retreat,
In imitation of the Gallic fleet.
His banners last on Susquehanna wav'd,
Where lucky to excess, his scalp he sav'd.
All these, and more, whose praise must be deferr'd,
Seditious rose, when Congress gave the word.
Of various principles, from various soils,
Smit with desire of change, or love of broils.
As when an ass with hideous clamour brays,
Unnumber'd asses loud their voices raise —
As when a restless ram the fence o'erleaps,
Flocks leave their grazing, and pursue in heaps:
So at one noisy, turbulent command,
Contagion seiz'd, and uproar fill'd the land —
All rush'd like frighten'd sheep to join the cause,
Or in sonorous cadence bray'd applause.
Come heav'n born Truth, and analyze a word
To all things human and divine preferr'd.
Guide of the will, and ruler of the heart —
Why not examine each component part?
Impress'd so deeply, and diffus'd so wide,
It ought the test of reason to abide —
Serene, and beautiful its outward face,
Within all wisdom, sanctity, and grace,
Impartial it should be, and void of faults —
It should — but truth from this account revolts.
Far other portrait the prevailing word
From truth's unerring pencil has incurr'd.
Bid her describe the Congress, straight she draws
An hydra-headed form, with harpies claws,
Lo! numerous mouths hiss, chatter, bark, or croak;
Here one like Cacus belches fire, and smoak,
The second like a monkey grins, and chats,
A third squalls horrible like angry cats;
Here you've the growls, and snarlings of a dog,
And there the beastly gruntings of a hog,
Others affect the puritanic tone,
The whine, the cant, the snuffle, and the groan;
In candour's accents falsehoods some disguise,
Whilst others vomit forth essential lies —
All sounds delusive, all disgustful notes,
Pour like a torrent from their brazen throats,
To fill with rage the poor distracted croud,
Whilst discord claps her hands, and shouts aloud.
This harsh account should Charity distrust,
Yet sad experience will pronounce it just.
Whoe'er the word of Congress shall peruse,
In every piece will see it change its views —
Now swell with duty to the King elate,
Now melt with kindness to the parent state,
Then back to treason suddenly revolve,
And join in Suffolk's infamous resolve.
Trace it through all the windings of the press,
Vote or appeal, petition or address,
Trace it in every act, in every speech,
Too sure you'll find duplicity in each —
Mark now its soothing, now its threat'ning strain,
Mark its hypocrisy, deceit, chicane,
From the soft breathings of the new-form'd hoard,
To that fell hour when Independence roar'd,
Forc'd you'll acknowledge, since creation's dawn,
Earth never yet produc'd so vile a spawn.
But still in Britain many disbelieve —
I own 'tis hard such baseness to conceive —
Who, that beheld these foul impostors rave,
When law confirm'd the rights, which treaties gave,
Heard them foretell Religion's general wreck,
From Romish faith establish'd in Quebec,
Who that observ'd all this could once opine,
That Saints like these with popery should join —
Imagination must it not surpass,
That Congress should proceed in pomp to mass —
Yet that they did authentic proofs can show,
Myriads the frontless fact, nay millions know.
Here gentle reader, we'll go back a space,
Two famous missions of the world to trace —
Saint — — with a priest in either hand,
Devoutly travell'd to Canadian land —
For those, who should rebel, a copious store
Of absolutions our Apostles bore —
In faith it prov'd a memorable job —
Its gracious sounds avail'd not with the mob —
Like Paul at Lystra, it provok'd the stones,
And scarce the factious preachers sav'd their bones.
McWhorter, Spencer, with the same designs,
A brace of flaming pestilent divines,
To Carolina went by Cong's decree,
From oaths the fetter'd populace to free —
Ridiculous attempt, unhallow'd work,
Plain sense abhor'd the miserable quirk —
The wretched bigots were dismiss'd with jeers,
But kept ('twas more than they deserv'd) their cars.
Not so discourag'd, the prolific word
To more successful artifice recurr'd —
Swarms of deceivers, practic'd in the trade,
Were sent abroad to gull, cajole, persuade,
Scoff with the scoffer, with the pious pray,
Drink with the drunkard, frolick with the gay.
All things to all with varied skill become,
And bribe with paper, or inflame with rum.
Others apart in some obscure recess,
The studied lie for publication dress —
Prepare the vague report, fallacious tale,
Invent fresh calumnies, revive the stale —
Pervert all records sacred and profane —
And chief among them stands the Villain Payne.
This scribbling imp, 'tis said, from London came,
That seat of glory, intermix'd with shame —
Imperial city, Queen of arts enroll'd,
But full of vice as Sodom was of old —
Once with the deathless name of Barnard grac'd,
By Wilkes, and Ball, and Sawbridge now defac'd.
Our hireling author having chang'd his soil,
True son of Grubstreet, here renew'd his toil —
What cannot ceaseless impudence produce —
Old — — knows its value, and its use.
He caught at Payne, reliev'd his wretched plight,
And gave him notes, and set him down to write —
Fire from the Doctor's hints the miscreant took,
Discarded truth, and soon compos'd a book,
A pamphlet, which without the least pretence
To reason, bore the name of Common Sense.
No matter what you call this doggerel stuff;
Bad as it was, it pleas'd, and that's enough —
The work like wildfire thro' the country ran,
And folly bow'd the knee to — — 's plan. —
Sense, reason, judgment were abash'd and fled,
And Congress reign'd triumphant in their stead.
O hapless land! O people void of brains,
My heart bleeds for you, tho' my soul disdains.
Deep schemes ensued, to all appearance vague,
But fitted to disseminate the plague. —
From the back woods half savages came down,
And awkward troops paraded every town —
Committees and conventions met by scores,
Justice was banish'd, law turn'd out of doors. —
Disorder seem'd to overset the land,
They, who appear'd to rule, the tumult fan'd,
But cunning stood behind with sure controul,
And in one centre caus'd to meet the whole.
By what contrivance this effect was gain'd,
How the new states were finish'd, and sustain'd,
All, all should be held up to public scorn,
An useful lesson to the child unborn.
But this would open an immense career —
And into port 'twere prudent now to steer.
Much have we labour'd in tempestuous seas —
'Tis time to give the shatter'd vessel ease,
Yet once refitted, we'll again display
Satire's red ensign on the watry way.
Again encounter the rebellious flag,
And from the staff the stripes of Faction drag.
These pirates hovering on the coast disperse,
And chace them with the flowing sail of verse.
O grace of every virtue, meek eyed maid,
Sweet modesty in purple robes array'd,
Think me not vain of these enervate lines,
These feeble colourings, and faint designs. —
To bring some stouter champion on the scene,
Is all I meditate, is all I mean.
I but endeavour to amuse the foe,
'Till Genius rise, and deal the fatal blow;
But Genius, careless of his charge, sits still,
And lets the monster Congress rage at will —
Lifts not the terror of his pond'rous lance,
Arrests not those, who sell the land to France.
Tilts not with bitter Wayne, with boist'rous Lee,
But leaves the task to weakness, and to me.
Thus, 'till some favour'd mortal raise his voice,
I must go on — 'tis duty, and not choice. —
Sister of Wisdom, Goddess of the Song,
Protect the meanest of the tuneful throng —
And when the feather'd weapon I prepare,
Once more to lay the villains bosom bare,
Let inspiration from th' ethereal height
Shed on my soul her vivifying light —
Poetic ardour, strength of thought infuse,
The life, the spirit of a glowing muse —
Ask I too much — then grant me for a time
Some deleterious pow'rs of acrid rhyme:
Some ars'nic verse, to poison with the pen,
These rats, who nestle in the Lion's den.