With confidence and brassie nerve, methinks,
Until they struck a Bunker on our links
That thwarted all their prowess—'pon my soul!
And left them groggy at the nineteenth hole.
But still they puttered 'round and drank our rum
Till Washington's avenging time had come;
When, with his army, steeled at Valley Forge,
He, George the First, uncrowned the other George,
And all the "red-breasts," from our eyries shooed
Where now the Bird of Freedom guards his brood.