The dog that is beat has a right to complain—
Sir Harry returns, a disconsolate swain,
To the face of his master, the devil's anointed,
To the country provided for thieves disappointed.
Our freedom, he thought, to a tyrant must fall:
He concluded the weakest must go to the wall.
The more he was flatter'd, the bolder he grew:
He quitted the old world to conquer the new.
But in spite of the deeds he has done in his garrison
(And they have been curious beyond all comparison),
He now must go home, at the call of his king,
To answer the charges that Arnold may bring.
But what are the acts which this chief has achieved?
If good, it is hard he should now be aggrieved:
And the more, as he fought for his national glory,
Nor valued, a farthing, the right of the story.
This famous great man, and [two birds of his feather],
In the Cerberus frigate came over together:
But of all the bold chiefs that remeasure the trip,
Not two have been known to return in one ship.
Like children that wrestle and scuffle in sport,
They are very well pleased as long as unhurt;
But a thump on the nose, or a blow in the eye,
Ends the fray; and they go to their daddy and cry.
Sir Clinton, thy deeds have been mighty and many!
You said all our paper was not worth a penny:
('Tis nothing but rags, quoth honest Will Tryon:
Are rags to discourage the sons of the lion?)
But Clinton thought thus: "It is folly to fight,
When things may by easier methods come right:
There is such an art as counterfeit-ation,
And I'll do my utmost to honor our nation:
"I'll show this damn'd country that I can enslave her,
And that by the help of a skilful engraver;
And then let the rebels take care of their bacon;
We'll play 'em a trick, or I'm vastly mistaken."
But the project succeeded not quite to your liking;
So you paid off your artist, and gave up bill-striking:
But 'tis an affair I am glad you are quit on:
You had surely been hang'd had you tried it in Britain.