There are two mighty speakers,

Who rule in Parliament,
Who ever have been seeking

Some mischief to invent;
'Twas North, and Bute his father,
The horrid plan did lay,
A mighty tax to gather
In North America.

They search'd the gloomy regions

Of the infernal pit,
To find among their legions
One who excell'd in wit;
To ask of him assistance,

Or tell them how they may
Subdue without resistance
This North America.

Old Satan, the arch traitor,
Who rules the burning lake,
Where he's chief navigator,
Resolved a voyage to take.
For the Britannic ocean

He launches far away,
To land he had no notion
In North America.

He takes his seat in Britain,
It was his soul's intent,
Great George's throne to sit on,
And rule the Parliament;
His comrades were pursuing
A diabolic way,

For to complete the ruin
Of North America.

He tried the art of magic

To bring his schemes about,
At length the gloomy project

He artfully found out:
The plan was long indulged
In a clandestine way,
But lately was divulged
In North America.
These subtle arch-combiners
Address'd the British court,
All three were undersigners

Of this obscure report-
There is a pleasant landscape
That lieth far away,
Beyond the wide Atlantic,
In North America.

There is a wealthy people,

Who sojourn in that land,

Their churches all with steeples
Most delicately stand,

Their houses, like the gilly,
Are painted red and gay:
They flourish like the lily,
In North America.

Their land with milk and honey
Continually doth flow,

The want of food or money
They seldom ever know;
They heap up golden treasure,
They have no debts to pay,

They spend their time in pleasure,
In North America.

On turkeys, fowls, and fishes,
Most frequently they dine,
With gold and silver dishes

Their tables always shine,

They crown their feasts with butter,

They eat and rise to play,

In silks their ladies flutter,

In North America.

With gold and silver laces

They do themselves adorn,
The rubies deck their faces,
Refulgent as the morn!
Wine sparkles in their glasses,
They spend each happy day
In merriment and dances,
In North America.

Let not our suit affront you,
When we address your throne,
O king, this wealthy country
And subjects are your own,
And you, their rightful sovereign,
They truly must obey,
You have a right to govern

This North America.

O king, you've heard the sequel
Of what we now subscribe,
Is it not just and equal

To tax this wealthy tribe?
The question being asked,
His majesty did say,
My subjects shall be taxed
In North America.
Invested with a warrant,
My publicans shall go,
The tenth of all their current
They surely shall bestow;
If they indulge rebellion,

Or from my precepts stray,
I'll send my war battalion
To North America.

I'll rally all my forces

By water and by land,

My light dragoons and horses
Shall go at my command,
I'll burn both town and city,
With smoke becloud the day,
I'll show no human pity
For North America.

Go on, my hearty soldiers,
You need not fear of ill-
There's Hutchinson and Rogers,
Their functions will fulfil-
They tell such ample stories,
Believe them sure we may,
One half of them are tories
In North America.

My gallant ships are ready

To hoist you o'er the flood, And in my cause be steady,

Which is supremely good;
Go ravage, steal, and plunder,
And you shall have the prey
They quickly will knock under
In North America.

The laws I have enacted,
I never will revoke,
Although they are neglected,
My fury to provoke,

I will forbear to flatter,

I'll rule the mighty sway,
I'll take away the charter
From North America.

O George! you are distracted,
You'll by experience find
The laws you have enacted
Are of the blackest kind.
I'll make a short digression,
And tell you by the way,
We fear not your oppression,
In North America.

Our fathers were distressed,
While in their native land;
By tyrants were oppressed,
As I do understand;
From freedom and religion

They were resolved to stray,
And try the desert regions

Of North America.

Kind Heaven was their protector While on the roaring tide, Kind fortune their director,

And Providence their guide;

If I am not mistaken,

About the first of May, This voyage was undertaken For North America.

To sail they were commanded

About the hour of noon,
At Plymouth shore they landed,
The twenty-first of June;
The savages were nettled,
With fear they fled away,
So peaceably they settled
On North America.

We are their bold descendants,
For liberty we'll fight,
The claim to independence

We challenge as our right; 'Tis what kind Heaven gave us, Who can it take away?

O, Heaven, sure, will save us,
In North America.

We never will knock under,
O, George, we do not fear
The rattling of your thunder,

Nor lightning of your spear:
Though rebels you declare us,

We're strangers to dismay; Therefore you cannot scare us, In North America.

We have a bold commander, Who fears not sword nor gun, The second Alexander,

His name is Washington;

His men are all collected,
And ready for the fray,
To fight they are directed

For North America.

We've Greene and Gates and Putnam To manage in the field,

A gallant train of footmen,

Who'd rather die than yield;

A stately troop of horsemen,
Train d in a martial way,
For to augment our forces
In North America.

Proud George, you are engaged
All in a dirty cause,
A cruel war have wagèd
Repugnant to all laws.
Go tell the savage nations
You're crueler than they,
To fight your own relations
In North America.

Ten millions you've expended,
And twice ten millions more;
Our riches, you intended

Should pay the mighty score.
Who now will stand your sponsor,
Your charges to defray?
For sure you cannot conquer
This North America.

I'll tell you, George, in metre,
If you'll attend awhile:
We forced your bold Sir Peter
From Sullivan's fair isle,
At Monmouth too we gained
The honours of the day-
The victory we obtained
For North America.
Surely we were your betters

Hard by the Brandywine;
We laid him fast in fetters

Whose name was John Burgoyne ;
We made your Howe to tremble
With terror and dismay;
True heroes we resemble,
In North America.

Confusion to the tories,

That black infernal name,

In which Great Britain glories,
For ever to her shame;
We'll send each foul revolter

To smutty Africa,

Or noose him in a halter,
In North America.

A health to our brave footmen,
Who handle sword and gun,
To Greene and Gates and Putnam
And conquering Washington;
Their names be wrote in letters
Which never will decay,
While sun and moon do glitter
On North America.

Success unto our allies

In Holland, France and Spain,
Who man their ships and galleys,
Our freedom to maintain;
May they subdue the rangers

Of proud Britannia,

And drive them from their anchors
In North America.
Success unto the Congress

Of these United States,
Who glory in the conquests

Of Washington and Gates;
To all, both land and seamen,
Who usher in the day,
When we shall all be freemen
In North America.

Success to legislation,

That rules with gentle hand,
To trade and navigation,

By water and by land;
May all with one opinion
Our wholesome laws obey,
Throughout this vast dominion
Of North America.

The "old and antique songs" we have quoted are not eminently poetical, and the fastidious reader may fancy there are in some of them qualities that should have prevented their publication. We appeal to the antiquaries. The "Cow Chase" will live long after the light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy paced times are forgotten, and, with other songs and ballads of our Revolution, will in the next century be prized more highly than the richest gems of Percy or Motherwell. They are the very mirrors of the times in which they were sung. As may have been observed, we have given none of the lyrics of Freneau. Free, daring, honest, and with sarcastic powers which made his pen as

terrible to the Tories and the British officers as that of Coleridge was to Napoleon, he did as good service to the great cause from his obscure printing office, as many a more celebrated patriot did in camp or legisla ture. The energy and exultation with which he recounted, in rapidly written songs, the successes of the Whigs, were equaled only by the keenness of his wit, and the appositeness of his humour. Nor was it in satire and song alone that he excelled. Though we claim not for him, superior as he was to his American contemporaries, the praise due to a true poet, some of his pieces are distinguished for a directness of expression, a manliness, fervour, and fine poetical feeling, that will secure for them a permanent place in our lite rature. Yet Freneau-the patriot, poet, soldier-died miserably poor, within the last ten years, while the national legislature was anxiously debating what should be done with the "surplus money in the treasury."

MATHER BYLES AND JOSEPH GREEN.

THE facetious MATHER BYLES was in his time equally famous as a poet and a wit. A contemporary bard exclaims

Would but Apollo's genial touch inspire

Such sounds as breathe from Byles's warbling lyre,
Then might my notes in melting measures flow,
And make all nature wear the signs of wo.

And his humour is celebrated in a poetical account of the clergy of Boston, quoted by Mr. Samuel Kettell, in his "Specimens of American Poetry,”—

There's punning Byles, provokes our smiles,
A man of stately parts.

He visits folks to crack his jokes,
Which never mend their hearts.

With strutting gait, and wig so great,
He walks along the streets,

And throws out wit, or what's like it,
To every one he meets.

Byles was graduated at Cambridge in 1725, and was ordained the first minister of the church in Hollis street, in 1732. He soon became eminent as a preacher, and the King's College at Aberdeen conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. He was one of the authors of " A Collection of Poems by several Hands," which appeared in 1744, and of numerous essays and metrical compositions in "The New England Weekly Journal," the merit of which was such as to introduce him to the notice of Pope and other English scholars. One of his poems is entitled "The Conflagration;" and is "applied to that grand catastrophe of our world when the face of nature is to be changed by a deluge of fire." The following lines show its style

Yet shall ye, flames, the wasting globe refine,
And bid the skies with purer splendour shine.
The earth, which the prolific fires consume,
To beauty burns, and withers into bloom;
Improving in the fertile flame it lies,
Fades into form, and into vigour dies:
Fresh-dawning glories blush amidst the blaze,
And nature all renews her flowery face.
With endless charms the everlasting year
Rolls round the seasons in a full career;
Spring, ever blooming, bids the fields rejoice,
And warbling birds try their melodious voice;
Where'er she treads, lilies unbidden blow,
Quick tulips rise and sudden roses glow:

Her pencil paints a thousand beauteous scenes Where blossoms bud amid immortal greens; Each stream, in mazes, murmurs as it flows, And floating forests gently bend their boughs. Thou, autumn, too, sitt'st in the fragrant shade, While the ripe fruits blush all around thy head: And lavish nature, with luxuriant hands, All the soft months in gay confusion blends. Byles was earnestly opposed to the Revolution, and in the spring of 1777, was denounced in the public assemblies as a tory, and compelled to give bonds for his appearance before a court for trial. In the following June he was convicted of treasonable conversa. tion, and hostility to the country, and sentenced to be imprisoned forty days on board a guard-ship, and at the end of that period to be sent with his family to England. The board of war, however, took his case into consideration, and commuted the punishment to a short confinement under a guard in his own house; but, though he continued to reside in Boston during the remainder of his life, he never again entered a pulpit, nor regained his ante-revolutionary popularity. He died in 1788, in the eighty-second year of his age.

He was a favourite in every social or convivial circle, and no one was more fond of his society than the colonial governor, Belcher, on the death of whose wife he wrote an elegy ending with

Meantime my name to thine allied shall stand,
Still our warm friendship, mutual flames extend;
The muse shall so survive from age to age,
And Belcher's name protect his Byles's page.

The doctor had declined an invitation to visit with the governor the province of Maine, and Belcher resorted to a stratagem to secure his company. Having persuaded him to drink tea with him on board the Scarborough ship of war, one Sunday afternoon, as soon as they were seated at the table the anchor was weighed, the sails set, and before the punning parson had called for his last cup, the ship was too far at sea for him to think of returning to the shore. As every thing necessary for his comfort had been thoughtfully provided, he was easily reconciled to the voyage. While making preparations for religious services, the next Sunday, it was discovered that there was no hymn book on board, and he wrote the following lines, which were sung instead of a selection from Sternhold and Hopkins

Great God, thy works our wonder raise;

To thee our swelling notes belong;
While skies and winds, and rocks and seas,
Around shall echo to our song.

Thy power produced this mighty frame,
Aloud to thee the tempests roar,
Or softer breezes tune thy name
Gently along the shelly shore.

Round thee the scaly nation roves,
Thy opening hands their joys bestow,
Through all the blushing coral groves,
These silent gay retreats below.
See the broad sun forsake the skies,
Glow on the waves, and downward glide;
Anon heaven opens all its eyes,

And star-beams tremble o'er the tide.
Each various scene, or day or night,
Lord! points to thee our nourish'd soul;
The glories fix our whole delight

So the touch'd needle courts the pole.

JOSEPH GREEN, a merchant of Boston, who had been

a classmate of Byles at Cambridge, was little less cele-
brated than the doctor for humour; and some of his
poetical compositions were as popular ninety years ago
as in our own time have been those of "Croaker &
Co.," which they resemble in spirit and playful ease
of versification. The abduction of the Hollis street
minister was the cause of not a little merriment in
Boston; and Green, between whom and Byles there
was some rivalry, as the leaders of opposing social
factions, soon after wrote a burlesque account of it-
In David's Psalms an oversight
Byles found one morning at his tea,
Alas! that he should never write
A proper psalm to sing at sea.
Thus ruminating on his seat,

Ambitious thoughts at length prevail'd;
The bard determined to complete

The part wherein the prophet fail'd.
He sat awhile and stroked his muse,*
Then taking up his tuneful pen,
Wrote a few stanzas for the use

Of his seafaring bretheren.
The task performi'd, the bard content,
Well chosen was each flowing word;
On a short voyage himself he went,

To hear it read and sung on board.
Most serious Christians do aver,
(Their credit sure we may rely on,)
In former times that after prayer,

They used to sing a song of Zion.
Our modern parson having pray'd,
Unless loud fame our faith beguiles,
Sat down, took out his book and said,
"Let's sing a psalm of Mather Byles."

At first, when he began to read,
Their heads the assembly downward hung,
But he with boldness did proceed,

And thus he read, and thus they sung.

THE PSALM.

With vast amazement we survey

The wonders of the deep,

Where mackerel swim, and porpoise play,
And crabs and lobsters creep.

Fish of all kinds inhabit here,
And throng the dark abode.
Here haddock, hake, and flounders are,
And eels, and perch, and cod.

From raging winds and tempests free,
So smoothly as we pass,

The shining surface seems to be
A piece of Bristol glass.

But when the winds and tempest rise,
And foaming billows swell,
The vessel mounts above the skies
And lower sinks than hell.

Our heads the tottering motion feel,
And quickly we become
Giddy as new-dropp'd calves, and reel
Like Indians drunk with rum.
What praises then are due that we
Thus far have safely got,
Amarescoggin tribe to see,

And tribe of Penobscot.

In 1750 Green published "An Entertainment for a Winter Evening," in which he ridicules the freemasons; and afterward, "The Sand Bank," "A True Account of the Celebration of St. John the Baptist,"

* Byles's favourite cat, so named by his friends.

and several shorter pieces, all of which I believe were satirical. His epigrams are the best written in this country before the Revolution; and many anecdotes are told to show the readiness of his wit and his skill as an improvisator. On one occasion, a country gentleman, knowing his reputation as a poet, procured an introduction to him, and solicited a "first rate epitaph" for a favourite servant who had lately died. Green asked what were the man's chief qualities, and was told that 'Cole excelled in all things, but was particu larly good at raking hay, which he could do faster than anybody, the present company, of course, excepted." Green wrote immediately

Here lies the body of John Cole,

His master loved him like his soul;

He could rake hay, none could rake faster
Except that raking dog, his master.

In his old age Green left Boston for England, rather from the infirmities of age, than from indifference to the cause of liberty.

EDWARD RANDOLPH.

EDWARD RANDOLPH, says Moore, was called the "evil genius" of New England, and was the most inveterate and indefatigable of those intriguing men who found access to the royal ear of Charles II., with complaints against the colonies. On this mischievous business, he made no less than eight voyages in nine years across the Atlantic. In 1676, he was sent over by royal authority to inquire into the state of the colonies. He brought with him copies of the petitions of Mason and Gorges relative to their patent of New Hampshire, the limits of which interfered with the grants to Massachu

setts.

While he was in Boston, he represented that the province was refractory, and disobedient to the requisitions of the crown. He was zealous to promote the cause of episcopacy, and to destroy the New England churches; and he was the principal instrument of depriving the inhabitants of Massachusetts of their charter privileges, the people against whom he had conceived a most violent antipathy. When the charter was taken away, and James II. succeeded to the crown, the king appointed a council to govern the province, of which Dudley was president, and Randolph was one named in the commission The next year, Sir Edmund Andros arrived with a commission to be governor of New England. Randolph was a conspicuous character during his short administration, and involved in his fate. How much the people were exasperated against him, appears by their refusing him bail when he applied, and when it was granted to cthers. The house of representatives, June 25, 1689, voted "that Mr. E. Randolph is not bailable, he having broken a capital law of the colony, in endeavouring and accomplishing the subversion of our government, and having been an evil counsellor." Randolph died in the West Indies. It was said, that he always retained his prejudices against the churches and people of Massachusetts. On the other hand, the inhabitants of that province, who once held him in abhorrence, regarded him and his reproaches with the utmost contempt.

From a letter of Randolph to Governor Winslow, written January 29, 1679,* published in the Collections of the Mass. Hist. Soc. vol. vi, p. 92, it appears that he had just returned from New Hampshire, where he The date ought undoubtedly to be 1680

remained from the 27th December to the 22d of January. In this letter he gives some account of the establishment of the royal government in this province under President Cutts, and also alludes to his reception at Boston. He says, "I am received at Boston more like a spy, than one of his majesty's servants. They kept a day of thanks for the return of their agents; but have prepared a welcome for me, by a paper of scandalous verses, all persons taking liberty to abuse me in their discourses, of which I take the more notice, because it so much reflects upon my master, who will not forget it."

"RANDOLPH'S WELCOME BACK AGAIN." Welcome, Sr. welcome from ye easterne shore With a commission stronger than before

To play the horse-leach: robb us of our fleeces,
To rend our land, and teare it all to pieces.
Welcome now back againe; as is the whip
To a ffoole's back; as water in a ship.

Boston make roome, Randolph's return'd, that hector,
Confirm'd at home to be ye sharp Collector;
Whoe shortly will present unto yr viewes

The greate broad seale, that will you all amuse,
Unwelcome tidings, and unhappy newes.

New England is a very loyall shrubb
That loues her Soveraigne, hates a Belzebub,
That's willing (let it to her praise be spoake)
To doe obedience to the Royall Oake,
Το

pay the Tribute that to it belongs,
For shielding her, from injuries and wrongs:
But you the Agent, Sr. she cannot brook,

She likes the meate, but can't abide the cook.
Alas, shee would haue Cæsar haue his due,
But not by such a wicked hand as you:
For an acknowledgement of Right, wee scorne
(To pay to our greate Lord a pepper-corne)

To baulke the tearmes of our most gratious deed
But would ten thousand times the same exceed.

Some call you Randall-Rend-all I you name,
Soe you'l appear before you've played yr game.
He that keeps a Plantacon, Custome-house,
One year, may bee a man, the next a mouse.
Yr brother Dyer hath the Divell play'd,
Made the New-Yorkers at the first affraide,
He vapour'd, swager'd, hector'd, (whoe but he?)
But soon destroy'd himself by villianie.
Well might his cursed name wth D begin,
Whoe was a Divell in his hart for sin,

And currantly did pass, by common vogue,
Ffor the deceitfull'st wretch and greatest rogue.

By him you'r ffurnish't wth a sad example

Take heed that those you crush don't on you trample.
We verryly believe we are not bound

To pay one mite to you, much less a pound.

If there were need New-England you must know,
Ffiftey p. cent we'ld on our King bestow,
And not begrutch the offring, shee's soe ffranck,
But hates to pay where she will have no thanke.

We doe presume Secundus Carrolus Rex
Sent you not here a countrye's heart to vex.
Hee gives an inch of power; you take an ell.
Should it be knowne, he would not like it well.
If you do understand yr occupation,
Tis to keep acts of trade from violation.
If merchants in their traffique will be ffaire,
You must, Camelion-like, live on the aire.
Should they not trade to Holland, Spain, and Ffrance,
Directly you must seeke ffor maintenance.
The customs and the flees will scarce supply
Belly and back. What's left ffor's Majesty?
What you collect won't make you to look bigg
With modish nick-nacks, dagger, perriwigg;

A courtier's garbe too costly you will see
To be maintain'd where is noe gift nor flee.

Pull downe the mill, rente the ground, you'l finde

That very few will come to you to grinde.
Merchants their corne will alwayes carry there,
Where the tole's easy, and the usage ffaire.
Wee'll kneele to the mill owner, as our cheife;
But doe not like the miller; he's a theife
And entertaine him not wth joy, but greife.
When Heauen would Job's signall patience try,
He gave Hell leave to plott his misery,
And act it too, according to it's will,
With this exception, don't his body kill.
Soe Royall Charles is now about to proue
Our Loyalty, Allegiance, and Loue,
In giving Licence to a Publican,

To pinch the purse, but not to hurt the man.
Patience raised Job unto the height of flame,
Lett our obedience doe ffor us the same.

PETER FOULGER.

PETER FOULGER was a schoolmaster of Nantucket, and the maternal grandfather of Doctor Franklin. In 1676 he published a poem entitled "A Looking-glass for the Times," addressed to men in authority, in which he advocates religious liberty, and implores the ⚫ government to repeal the uncharitable laws against the Quakers and other sects. He says—

The rulers in the country

I do owne them in the Lord;
And such as are for government,
With them I do accord.

But that which I intend hereby,
Is that they would keep bound;
And meddle not with God's worship,
For which they have no ground.
And I am not alone herein,

There's many hundreds more,
That have for many years ago

Spoke much more upon that score. Indeed, I really believe,

It's not your business,

To meddle with the church of God

In matters more or less.

In another part of his "Looking-Glass" he says—
Now loving friends and countrymen

I wish we may be wise;
'Tis now a time for every man
To see with his own eyes.
"Tis easy to provoke the Lord
To send among us war;
"Tis easy to do violence,

To envy and to jar;
To show a spirit that is high;
To scorn and domineer;
To pride it out as if there were
No God to make us fear;
To covet what is not our own;
To cheat and to oppress;
To live a life that might free us

From acts of righteousness;
To swear, and lie, and to be drunk
To backbite one another;
To carry tales that may do hurt
And mischief to our brother;
To live in such hypocrisy,
As men may think us good,
Although our hearts within are full
Of evil and of blood.

All these, and many evils more,

Are easy for to do;

But to repent and to reform

We have no strength thereto.