[L] A high church Episcopalian, then rector of Trinity Church, N. Y., since deceased.—Freneau's note.
[M] Miles Cooper, President of Kings (now Columbia College).—Ib.
Such solemn confession,[225] in scriptural stile
Worked out my salvation, at least for a while;
The parson pronounced me deserving of grace,
And so they restored me to printing and place.
But days, such as these, were too happy to last:
The sand of felicity settled too fast!
When I swore and protested I honoured the throne
The least they could do was to let me alone;
Though George I compared to an angel above,
They wanted some solider proofs of my love;
And so they obliged me each morning to come
And turn in the ranks at the beat of the drum,
While often, too often (I tell it with pain)
They menaced my head with a hickory cane,
While others, my betters, as much were opprest—
But shame and confusion shall cover the rest.
You, doubtless, will think I am dealing in fable
When I tell you I guard an officer's stable—
With usage like this my feelings are stung;
The next thing will be, I must heave out the dung!
Six hours in the day is duty too hard,
And Rivington sneers whene'er I mount guard,
And laughs till his sides are ready to split
With his jests, and his satires, and sayings of wit:
Because he's excused, on account of his post
He cannot go by without making his boast,
As if I was all that is servile and mean—
But Fortune, perhaps, may alter the scene,
And give him his turn to stand in the street,
Burnt brandy supporting his animal heat—[226]
But what for the king or the cause has he done
That we must be toiling while he can look on?
Great conquests he gave them on paper—'tis true[227]
When Howe was retreating, he made him pursue;
Alack! it's too plain that Britons must fall—
When loaded with laurels—they go to the wall.
From hence you may guess I do nothing but grieve,
And where we are going I cannot conceive—
The wisest among us a change are expecting,
It is not for nothing, these ships are collecting,
It is not for nothing, that Matthews, the mayor,
And legions of Tories, for sailing prepare;
It is not for nothing, that John Coghill Knap
Is filing his papers, and plugging his tap;
See Skinner himself, the fighting attorney,
Is boiling potatoes, to serve a long journey;
But where they are going, or meaning to travel,
Would puzzle John Faustus himself to unravel,
Perhaps to Penobscot, to starve in the barrens,
Perhaps to St. John's, in the gulph of St. Lawrence;
Perhaps to New-Scotland, to perish with cold,
Perhaps to Jamaica, like slaves to be sold,
Where, scorched by the summer, all nature repines,
Where Phœbus, great Phœbus, too glaringly shines,
And fierce from the zenith diverging his ray
Oppresses the isle with a torrent of day.
Since matters are thus, with proper submission
Permit me to offer my humble Petition:
(Though the form is uncommon, and lawyers may sneer,
With truth I can tell you, the scribe is sincere.)
That, since it is plain we are going away,
You will suffer Hugh Gaine unmolested to stay,
His sand is near run (life itself is a span)
So leave him to manage the best that he can:
Whoe'er are his masters, or monarchs, or regents,
For the future he's ready to swear them allegiance;
The Crown he will promise to hold in disgrace:[228]
The Bible—allow him to stick in its place,
'Till that, in due season, you wish to put down
And bid him keep shop at the sign of the crown.
If the Turk with his turban should set up at last here
While he gives him protection, he'll own him his master,
And yield due obedience (when Britain is gone)
Though ruled by the sceptre of Presbyter John.
My press, that has called you (as tyranny drove her)
Rogues, rebels, and rascals, a thousand times over,
Shall be at your service by day and by night,
To publish whate'er you think proper to write;
Those types which have raised George the third to a level
With angels—shall prove him as black as the devil,
To him that contrived him a shame and disgrace,
Nor blest with one virtue to honour his race!
Who knows but, in time, I may rise to be great,
And have the good fortune to manage a State?
Great noise among people great changes denotes,
And I shall have money to purchase their votes—
The time is approaching, I venture to say,
When folks worse than me will come into play,
When your double faced[229] people will give themselves airs,
And aim to take hold of the helm of affairs,
While the honest bold soldier, who sought your renown,
Like a dog in the dirt, shall be crushed and held down.
Of honours and profits allow me a share!
I frequently dream of a president's chair!
And visions full often intrude on my brain,
That for me to interpret, would rather be vain.
Blest seasons advance, when Britons[230] shall find
That they can be happy, and you[231] can be kind,
When Rebels no longer at Traitors shall spurn,
When Arnold himself will in triumph return!
But my paper informs me it's time to conclude;
I fear my Address has been rather too rude—
If it has—for my boldness your pardon I pray,
And further, at present, presume not to say,
Except that (for form's sake) in haste I remain
Your humble Petitioner—honest—Hugh Gaine.[232]
[214] First published in the Freeman's Journal in several installments, the first appearing Jan. 8, 1783. Hugh Gaine began as a printer in New York in 1750, and two years later established the New York Mercury. His imprint for many years was "Printed by Hugh Gaine, Printer, Bookseller, Stationer, at the Bible and Crown, in Hanover Square." Upon the beginning of hostilities with England he at first sided with the patriots. "Gaine's political creed it seems was to join the strongest party. When the British troops were about to take possession of New York in 1776, he left the city and set up his press at Newark; but soon after, in the belief that appearances were against the ultimate success of the United States, be privately withdrew from Newark and returned to New York. At the conclusion of the war, he petitioned the State legislature for leave to remain in the city and, having obtained permission, his press was employed in book printing, etc., but his newspaper was discontinued when the British army left."—Thomas' History of Philadelphia. I have used the text from the edition of 1809.
[215] "It is to be questioned if Gaine ever wrote a petition."—Paul Leicester Ford.
[216] "Drug shop."—Ed. 1786.
[217] "Dog house."—Ib.