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OLD ENGLAND. |
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Let us laugh at the cavils of weak, silly elves ! Our statesmen are wise men! they say so themselves, And tho' little mortals may hear it with wonder, 'Tis consummate wisdom, that causes each blunder!
They are now engaged in a glorious war !
It began about tea, about feathers and tar ;2
With spirit they push what they've planned with sense!
Forty-millions they've spent, for a tax of three pence.
The debts of the nation do grieve them so sore, To lighten our burden, they load us the more! They aim at th' American's cash, my dear honey! Yet beggar this kingdom, and send them the money.
What honors we're gaining by taking their forts, Destroying bateaux, and blocking up ports ! Burgoyne would have work'd 'em but for a mishap, By Gates and one Arnold, he's caught in a trap!
But Howe was more cautious and prudent by far, He sail'd with his fleet up the great Delaware; All summer he struggled and strove to undo 'em, But the plague of it was, he could not get to them.
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