Classic Poem

On Calvert's plains new faction reigns,
Great Britain we defy, sir,
True Liberty lies gagg'd in chains,
Though freedom is the cry, sir.

The Congress, and their factious tools,
Most wantonly oppress us,
Hypocrisy triumphant rules,
And sorely does distress us.

The British bands with glory crown'd,
No longer shall withstand us;
Our martial deeds loud fame shall sound
Since mad Lee now commands us.

Triumphant soon a blow he'll strike,
That all the world shall awe, sir,
And General Gage, Sir Perseus like,
Behind his wheels he'll draw, sir.

When Gallic hosts, ungrateful men,
Our race meant to extermine,
Pray did committees save us then,
Or Hancock, or such vermin?

Then faction spurn! think for yourselves!
Your parent state, believe me,
From real griefs, from factious elves,
Will speedily relieve ye.