The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 16

A MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE[72]

Humbly Inscribed to My Lord Snake

One Sabbath-day morning said Sampson to Sue "I have thought and have thought that a t.i.tle will do; Believe me, my dear, it is sweeter that syrup To taste of a t.i.tle, as cooked up in Europe; "Your ladys.h.i.+p" here and "your ladys.h.i.+p" there, "Sir knight," and "your grace," and "his wors.h.i.+p the mayor!"

But here, we are nothing but vulgar all over, And the wife of a cobbler scarce thinks you above her: What a country is this, where Madam and Miss Is the highest address from each vulgar-born cur, And I--even I--am but Mister and Sir!

Your Equal-Right gentry I ne'er could abide That all are born equal, by Me is denied: And Barlow and Paine shall preach it in vain; Look even at brutes, and you'll see it confest That some are intended to manage the rest; Yon' dog of the manger, how stately he struts!

You may swear him well-born, from the size of his guts; Not a better-born whelp ever snapped at his foes, All he wants is a Gla.s.s to be stuck on his Nose: And then, my dear Sue, between me and you, He would look like the gemman whose name I forget, Who lives in a castle and never pays debt."

"My dear (answered Susan) 'tis said, in reproach, That you climb like a bear when you get in a coach: Now, your n.o.bles that spring from the n.o.bles of old, Your earls, and your knights, and your barons, so bold, From Nature inherit so handsome an air They are n.o.blemen born, at first glance we may swear: But you, that have cobbled, and I, that have spun, 'Tis wrong for our noddles on t.i.tles to run: Moreover, you know, that to make a fine show, Your people of note, of arms get a coat; A boot or a shoe would but sneakingly do, And would certainly prove our n.o.bility New."

"No matter (said Sampson) a coach shall be bought: Though the low-born may chatter, I care not a groat; Around it a group of devices shall s.h.i.+ne, And mottoes, and emblems--to prove it is mine; Fair liberty's Cap, and a Star, and a Strap; A Dagger, that somewhat resembles an Awl, A pumpkin-faced G.o.ddess supporting a Stall: All these shall be there--how people will stare!

And Envy herself, that our t.i.tle would blast May smile at the motto,--the First shall be Last."[A]

[A] Qui primus fuit nunc ultimus.--Motto on a certain coach.--_Freneau's note._

[72] First published in the _National Gazette_, August 11, 1792, under the t.i.tle "A Curious Dialogue." In this earliest version it is noted that the piece was "occasioned by emblematic devices on a certain travelling coach." Text from the 1809 edition.

ON THE MEMORABLE[73]

Naval Engagement between the Republican Frigate _L'Ambuscade_ Captain Bompard, and the British Royal Frigate _Boston_, Captain Courtney, off the coast of New-Jersey.--1792

Resolved for a chace, All Frenchmen to face, Bold Boston from Halifax sailed, With a full flowing sheet, The pride of the fleet, Not a vessel she saw, but she hailed; With Courtney, commander, who never did fear, Nor returned from a fight with a "flea in his ear."

As they stered for the Hook, Each swore by his book, "No prayers should their vengeance r.e.t.a.r.d; "They would plunder and burn, "They would never return "Unattended by Captain Bompard!

"No Gaul can resist us, when once we arouse, "We'll drown the monsieurs in the wash of our bows."

A sail now appeared, When toward her they steered, Each crown'd with his Liberty-Cap; Under colours of France did they boldly advance, And a small privateer did entrap-- The time may have been when their nation was brave, But now, their best play is to cheat and deceive.

Arrived at the spot Where they meant to dispute, Thus Courtney sent word, in a heat: "Since fighting's our trade, "Their bold Ambuscade "Must be sunk, or compelled to retreat: "Tell Captain Bompard, if his stomach's for war, "To advance from his port, and engage a bold tar."

Brave Captain Bompard When this challenge he heard, Though his sails were unbent from the yards, His topmasts struck down, And his men half in town; Yet sent back his humble regards-- The challenge accepted; all hands warned on board, Bent, their sails, swore revenge, and the frigate unmoored.

The Boston, at sea, Being under their lee, For windward manoeuvred in vain; 'Till night coming on, Both laid by 'till dawn, Then met on the watery plain, The wind at north-east, and a beautiful day, And the hearts of the Frenchmen in trim for the fray.

So, to it they went, With determined intent The fate of the day to decide By the virtues of powder; (No argument louder Was e'er to a subject applied) A Gaul with a Briton in battle contends, Let them stand to their guns, and we'll see how it ends.

As the Frenchman sailed past, Boston gave him a blast, Gla.s.s bottles, case knives, and old nails, A score of round shot, And the devil knows what, To cripple his masts and his sails.

The Boston supposed it the best of her play To prevent him from chacing--if she ran away.

The Frenchman most cool, (No hot-headed fool,) Returned the broadside in a trice; So hot was the blast, He disabled one mast, And gave them some rigging to splice, Some holes for to plug, where the bullets had gone, Some yards to replace, and some heads to put on.

Three gla.s.ses, and more, Their cannons did roar, Shot flying in horrible squads; 'Midst torrents of smoke, The Republican spoke, And frightened the Anglican G.o.ds!

Their frigate so mauled, they no longer defend her, And, Courtney shot down--they bawled out to surrender!

"O la! what a blunder "To provoke this French thunder!

"We think with the devil he deals-- "But since we dislike "To surrender and strike, "Let us try the success of our heels: "We may save the king's frigate by running away, "The Frenchman will have us--all hands--if we stay!"

So squaring their yards, On all Captain Bompard's, A volley of curses they shed-- Having got their Discharge, They bore away large, While the Frenchman pursued, as they fled.

But vain was his haste--while his sails he repaired, He ended the fray in a chace-- The Gaul got the best of the fight, 'tis declared; The Briton--the best of the race!

[73] Published in the _National Gazette_, Aug. 17, 1793. The frigate _L'Ambuscade_, which had borne Citizen Genet from France to Charleston, where he arrived April 8, 1792, and which was soon after stationed at Philadelphia, caused much trouble to the federal government by making American ports her basis for operations upon English s.h.i.+pping. She captured several British s.h.i.+ps, among them the _Grange_ and the _Little Sarah_. Text from the 1809 edition.

TO SHYLOCK AP-SHENKIN[74]

[In Reply to Big Looks and Menaces]

Because some pumpkin-sh.e.l.ls and lobster claws, Thrown o'er his garden walls by Crab-tree's duke, Have chanc'd to light within your meagre jaws, (A dose, at which all honest men would puke:)

Because some treasury-luncheons you have gnaw'd, Like rats, that prey upon the public store: Must you, for that, your crude stuff belch abroad, And vomit lies on all that pa.s.s your door!

To knavery's tribe my verse still fatal found, Alike to kings and coblers gives their due: Spruce tho' you be, your heels may drum the ground, And make rare pa.s.s-time for the sportive crew.

Why all these hints of menace, dark and sad, What is my crime, that thus Ap-Shenkin raves?

No secret-service-money have I had For waging two years' war with fools and knaves.

Abus'd at court, unwelcome to the Great-- This page of mine no well-born aspect wears: On honest yeomen I repose its fate, Clodhopper's dollar is as good as theirs.

Why wouldst thou then with ruffian hand destroy A wight, that wastes his ink in Freedom's cause: Who, to the last, his arrows will employ To publish Freedom's rights, and guard her laws!

O thou! that hast a heart so flinty hard Thus oft, too oft, a poet to rebuke, From those that rhyme you ne'er shall meet regard; Of Crab-tree's dutchy--you shall be no Duke.

[74] Called forth by Hamilton's letters in Fenno's _Gazette_, charging Freneau with being a mere hired tool of Jefferson. Published in the 1795 edition, but omitted from the 1809 collection.

PESTILENCE[75]

Hot, dry winds forever blowing, Dead men to the grave-yards going: Constant hea.r.s.es, Funeral verses; Oh! what plagues--there is no knowing!

Priests retreating from their pulpits!-- Some in hot, and some in cold fits In bad temper, Off they scamper, Leaving us--unhappy culprits!

Doctors raving and disputing, Death's pale army still recruiting-- What a pother One with t'other!