STUCK UP AT New York on the 25th of August, 1780

[BY JOSEPH STANSBURY]

Has the Marquis la Fayette
Taken off all our hay yet?

Says Clinton to the wise heads around him:
Yes, faith, great Sir Harry,
Each stack he did carry,

And likewise the cattle-confound him!

Besides he now goes

Just under your nose,

To burn all the houses to cinder.

If that be his project,

It is not an object

Worth a great man's attempting to hinder.

For forage and house

I care not a louse;

For revenge let the Loyalists bellow.

I swear I'll not do more

To keep them in humor,

Than play on my violoncello.

Since Charles Town is taken,

'Twill sure save my bacon:

I can live a whole year on that same, sir.
Ride about all the day;

At night, concert or play;

So a fig for those men that dare blame, sir.

If growlers complain

I inactive remain,

Will do nothing, nor let any others;

'Tis sure no new thing

To serve thus our King;

Witness Burgoyne and two famous Brothers!

1 [Written to protest against the delinquency of Sir Henry Clinton, who in 1780 allowed the Americans in the vicinity of New York to commit many outrages.]

AN INDICTMENT OF WASHINGTON
[FROM "THE AMERICAN TIMES," BY JONATHAN ODELL. 1780]
Hear thy indictment, Washington, at large;
Attend and listen to the solemn charge:
Thou hast supported an atrocious cause
Against thy King, thy Country, and the laws;
Committed perjury, encourag'd lies,

Forced conscience, broken the most sacred ties;
Myriads of wives and fathers at thy hand

Their slaughter'd husbands, slaughter'd sons demand;
That pastures hear no more the lowing kine,-
That towns are desolate, all-all is thine;
The frequent sacrilege that pain'd my sight:
The blasphemies my pen abhors to write;
Innumerable crimes on thee must fall—
For thou maintainest, thou defendest all.

What could, when half-way up the hill of fame,
Induce thee to go back, and link with shame?
Was it ambition, vanity, or spite,

That prompted thee with Congress to unite;
Or did all three within thy bosom roll,
"Thou heart of hero with a traitor's soul"?
Go, wretched author of thy country's grief,
Patron of villainy, of villains chief;
Seek with thy cursed crew the eternal gloom,
Ere Truth's avenging sword begin thy doom;
Or sudden vengeance of celestial dart
Precipitate thee with augmented smart.

LET US BE HAPPY AS LONG AS WE CAN [BY JOSEPH STANSBURY. PROBABLY 1782]

I've heard in old times that a sage us'd to say
The seasons were nothing-December or May—
The heat or the cold never enter'd his plan;
That all should be happy whenever they can.

No matter what power directed the state,
He look'd upon such things as order'd by Fate.
Whether govern'd by many, or rul'd by one man,
His rule was-be happy whenever you can.

He happen'd to enter this world the same day
With the supple, complying, fam'd Vicar of Bray.
Thro' both of their lives the same principle ran:
My boys, we'll be happy as long as we can.

Time-serving I hate, yet I see no good reason
A leaf from their book should be thought out of season.
When kick'd like a foot-ball from Sheba to Dan,
Egad, let's be happy as long as we can.

Since no one can tell what to-morrow may bring,
Or which side shall triumph, the Congress or King;
Since Fate must o'errule us and carry her plan,
Why, let us be happy as long as we can.

To-night let's enjoy this good wine and a song,
And relish the hour which we cannot prolong.
If evil will come, we'll adhere to our plan,
And baffle misfortune as long as we can.

THE UNITED STATES

[BY JOSEPH STANSBURY. 1783]
Now this War at length is o'er;
Let us think of it no more.
Every party lie or name,

Cancel as our mutual shame.

Bid each wound of faction close,

Blushing we were ever foes.

Now restor'd to peace again,

Active commerce ploughs the main;

All the arts of civil life

Swift succeed to martial strife;

Britain now allows their claim,

Rising empire, wealth, and fame.

TO PEACE

[FROM THE MANUSCRIPT OF JOSEPH STANSBURY]

O come, light borne on eastern gales,
And bid our sorrows cease:

With flow'rets crown our smiling vales,

Thou gentle cherub Peace!

Efface the horrid marks of war;
Each private grudge remove;
With plenty load the rustic's car,

And fill the land with love.

FRANCIS HOPKINSON

Francis Hopkinson deserves a place among Revolutionary writers both for his literary accomplishments and for his services to the American cause. He was born in 1737 in Philadelphia, where his father was a lawyer,—the associate of Franklin in the "Junto," and in electrical experiment. He was the first student to enter the College of Philadelphia (now the University of Pennsylvania), from which he got both the bachelor's and the master's degrees. Like his father, he became a distinguished lawyer, a judge of the admiralty, and an active and esteemed citizen of Philadelphia. He was a member of the Continental Congress and a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Along with his legal and public labors, however, he found time for lighter interests. He was described in a letter by John Adams as "one of your pretty, little, ingenious men," "genteel, wellbred, and very social," with a taste for "painting, sculpture, architecture, and music." He had indeed a culture and versatility unusual in his time, as is shown also by the Miscellaneous Essays and Occasional Writings published from his manuscripts shortly after his death in 1791. These include two volumes of orations and addresses, essays in the manner of Addison, revolutionary and social satires, and scientific papers; and a third volume curiously divided between "Judgments in the Admiralty of Pennsylvania" and "Poems on Various Subjects." Lacking in high merit or interest, these "miscellanies" still give a pleasing impression of their author as a man of wide intelligence, cultivated taste, good sense, and good nature. By the last named quality in particular Hopkinson is distinguished from other satirists of the Revolution; the subjects which Paine and Freneau treat with harshness or bitterness, he looks upon no less seriously but with unfailing good humor. Even compared with Trumbull he is more genial. But he lacks the energy of Paine and