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374 THE LETTER.
The Congress must bend,
We shall fall in the end, For the curs'd British sarpents are tough ;
But, I think as you find,
I have enough penn'd Of such cursed, such vexatious stuff.
Yet how vexing to find,
We are left all behind, That by sad disappointment we're cross'd;
Ah, fortune unkind!
Thou afflicted'st my mind, When the South Carolina we lost. .
Our enemy vile,
Cunning Digby does smile, Is pleased at our mischance;
He useth each wile,
Our fleets to beguile, And to check our commerce with France.
No more as a friend, Our ships to defend, • Of South Carolina we boast; |
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