Lord, to account who dares thee call, Or e’er dispute thy pleasure? Else why, within so thick a wall, Enclose so poor a treasure?
Lines Inscribed In A Lady’s Pocket Almanac
Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I may live, To see the miscreants feel the pains they give; Deal Freedom’s sacred treasures free as air, Till Slave and Despot be but things that were.
Thanksgiving For A National Victory
Ye hypocrites! are these your pranks? To murder men and give God thanks! Desist, for shame!—proceed no further; God won’t accept your thanks for Murther!
Lines On The Commemoration Of Rodney’s Victory
Instead of a Song, boy’s, I’ll give you a Toast; Here’s to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!— That we lost, did I say?—nay, by Heav’n, that we found; For their fame it will last while the world goes round. The next in succession I’ll give you’s the King! Whoe’er would betray him, on high may he swing! And here’s the grand fabric, our free Constitution, As built on the base of our great Revolution! And longer with Politics not to be cramm’d, Be Anarchy curs’d, and Tyranny damn’d! And who would to Liberty e’er prove disloyal, May his son be a hangman—and he his first trial!