Classic Poem

When North first began
With his taxation plan,
The Colonies all to supplant,
To Britain's true cause,
And her liberty, laws,
Oh, how did he scorn to recant.

Oh! how did he boast
Of his pow'r and his host,
Alternately swagger and cant;
Of freedom so dear,
Not a word would he hear,
Nor believe he'd be forc'd to recant.

That freedom he swore
They ne'er should have more,
Their money to give and to grant;
Whene'er they addressed,
What disdain he express'd,
Not thinking they'd make him recant.

He armies sent o'er
To America's shore,
New government there to transplant;
But every campaign
Prov'd his force to be vain,
Yet still he refus'd to recant.

But such all their bombast,
They were so beat at last,
As to silence his impious rant;
Who for want of success,
Could at last do no less
Than draw in his horns, and recant.

With his brother Burgoyne,
He's forc'd now to join,
And a treaty of peace for to want;
Says he ne'er will fight,
But will give up his right
To taxation, and freely recant.

With the great General Howe,
He'd be very glad now,
He ne'er had engag'd in the jaunt;
And ev'ry proud Scot
In the devilish plot,
With his Lordship, are forc'd to recant.

Old England, alas!
They have brought to such pass,

Too late are proposals extant;
America 's lost,
Our glory at most
Is only that — tyrants recant.