NEAR Battle, Mr. Peter Baker
Was Powder-maker,
Not Alderman Flower’s flour,—the white that puffs
And primes and loads heads bald, or gray, or chowder,
Figgins and Higgins, Fippins, Filby,—Crowder,
Not vile apothecary’s pounded stuffs,
But something blacker, bloodier, and louder,
Gun-powder!
This stuff, as people know, is semper
Eadem; very hasty in its temper—