Classic Poem

What times are these?—a perfect riddle!
Whence fled the scenes of former quiet?
Bless us—when Patriots strum the fiddle,
And Generals form and head the riot!

The unarm'd Quakers and the Tories
Sustained the honours of the night,
And still their poor, unshutter'd stories
Hang zig-zag trophies of their might.

See General Gates and Dicky Peters,
With Jemmy Mease of noted worth;
Richard and Tom the prime of eaters,
Like ancient heroes sally forth.

Our true Don Quixotes, by false guessings
Direct their calls and lead the van:
Mistake the Tories for the Hessians,
And Quaker for poor Englishman!

Illustrious Chieftains! future ages
Shall mark your triumphs of the day.
While wide the patriotic Sages
Shall round the world your fame convey.

Still as a foil, ye new Law-makers,
To former happiness remain.
Blunderers, go on: despise the Quakers—
You never shall their heighth attain.

The wisdom of their gentle ruling
Can bear the retrospective view;
And this, with all your boasted schooling,
Is more than will be said of you.