[179] "Halters and gibbets."--_Ed. 1786._
[180] "To get us away to the shallows of Styx."--_Ed. 1786._
[181] "By the mass and the will of the fates."--_Ib._
We have reason to think there will soon be a peace, And that war with the Rebels will certainly cease; But, be that as it will, I would have you to know That as matters are changing, we soon may change too; In short, I would say, (since I have it at heart) Though the war should continue, yet we may depart.
Four offers in season I therefore propose, (As much as I can do in reason, God knows) In which, though there be not too plentiful carving, There still is sufficient to keep you from starving.
And, first of the first, it would mightily charm me To see you, my children, enlist in the army, Or enter the navy, and get for your pay, A farthing an hour, which is sixpence per day-- There's Hector Clackmanan, and Arthur O'Gregor And Donald M'Donald shall rule you with vigour:
If these do not suit you, then take your new plan, Make your peace with the rebels, (march off to a man):[182] There rank and distinction perhaps you may find And rise into offices fit to your mind-- But if still you object--I advise you to take a Farewell to New-York--and away to Jamaica.[183]
[182] "That is, if you can."--_Ed. 1786._
"But if still you object--to be all on a level, _Burn up your red coats and go off to the Devil_." --_Ib._
"_We have force to crumble you into dust, although you were as hard as rocks, adamant, or jasper._" KIEN-LHI, _alias_ JOHN TUCK, _Viceroy of Canton_.[185]
When round the bark the howling tempest raves Tossed in the conflict of a thousand waves, The lubber landsmen weep, complain, and sigh, And on the pilot's skill, or heaven, rely; Lurk in their holes, astonished and aghast, Dreading the moment that must be their last. The tempest done--their terror also ceases, And up they come, and shew their shameless faces, At once feel bold, and tell the pilot, too, He did no more than they--themselves--could do! A Foe to Tyrants! one your pen restores:-- There is a Tyrant whom your soul adores: And every line you write too plainly shows, Your heart is hostile to that tyrant's foes. What, worse than folly, urged this genius dull With Churchill's[186] wreathes to shade his leaden scull: So, midnight darkness union claims with light: So, oil and water in one mass unite:-- No more your rage in plundered verse repeat, Sink into prose--even there no safe retreat.[187] Reed's[188] patriot fame to distant years may last, When rancorous reptiles to the dogs are cast, Or, where oblivion spreads her weary wings, Lost in the lumber of forgotten things; And none shall ask, nor wish to know, nor care, Who--what their names--or when they lived--or where.[189]