Poems relating to the American Revolution / Philip Freneau ; with an introductory memoir and notes by Evert A. Duyckinck [electronic text]

GEORGE THE THIRD'S SOLILOQUY.

WHAT mean these dreams, and hideous forms that rise Night after night, tormenting to my eyes — No real foes these horrid shapes can be, But thrice as much they vex and torture me.

How curs'd is he, —how doubly curs'd am I — Who lives in pain, and yet who dares not die; To him no joy this world of Nature brings, In vain the wild rose blooms, the daisy springs. Is this a prelude to some new disgrace, Some baleful omen to my name and race! — It may be so —ere mighty Cesar died, Presaging Nature felt his doom, and sigh'd; A bellowing voice through midnight groves was heard, And threatening ghosts at dusk of eve appear'd — Ere Brutus fell, to adverse fates a prey, His evil genius met him on the way, And so may mine! —but who would yield so soon A prize, some luckier hour may make my own? — Shame seize my crown, ere such a deed be mine — No —to the last my squadrons shall combine, And slay my foes, while foes remain to slay, Or heaven shall grant me one successful day.

Is there a robber close in Newgate hemm'd, Is there a cut-throat, fetter'd and condemn'd? Haste, loyal slaves, to George's standard come, Attend his lectures when you hear the drum; Your chains I break —for better days prepare, Come out, my friends, from prison and from care, Far to the west I plan your desperate sway, There 'tis no sin to ravage, burn, and slay; There, without fear, your bloody aims pursue, And show mankind what English thieves can do.

That day, when first I mounted to the throne, I swore to let all foreign foes alone. Through love of peace to terms did I advance, And made, they say, a shameful league with France. But different scenes rise horrid to my view, I charg'd my hosts to plunder and subdue — At first, indeed, I thought short wars to wage, And sent some jail-birds to be led by Gage, For 'twas but right, that those we mark'd for slaves Should be reduc'd by cowards, fools, and knaves: Awhile, directed by his feeble hand, Those troops were kick'd and pelted through the land, Or starv'd in Boston, curs'd the unlucky hour They left their dungeons for that fatal shore.

France aids them now, a desperate game I play, And hostile Spain will do the same, they say; My armies vanquish'd, and my heroes fled, My people murmuring, and my commerce dead, My shatter'd navy pelted, bruis'd, and clubb'd,

By Dutchmen bullied, and by Frenchmen drubb'd, My name abhorr'd, my nation in disgrace, How should I act in such a mournful case! My hopes and joys are vanish'd with my coin, My ruin'd army, and my lost Burgoyne! What shall I do —confess my labours vain, Or whet my tusks, and to the charge again! But where's my force —my choicest troops are fled, Some thousands crippled, and a myriad dead — If I were own'd the boldest of mankind, And hell with all her flames inspir'd my mind, Could I at once with Spain and France contend, And fight the rebels, on the world's green end?—— The pangs of parting I can ne'er endure, Yet part we must, and part to meet no more! Oh, blast this Congress, blast each upstart STATE, On whose commands ten thousand captains wait; From various climes that dire Assembly came, True to their trust, as hostile to my fame; 'Tis these, ah these, have ruin'd half my sway, Disgrac'd my arms, and led my slaves astray — Curs'd be the day, when first I saw the sun, Curs'd be the hour, when I these wars begun: The fiends of darkness then poffess'd my mind, And powers unfriendly to the human kind. To wasting grief, and sullen rage a prey, To Scotland's utmost verge I'll take my way, There with eternal storms due concert keep, And while the billows rage, as fiercely weep —

Ye highland lads, my rugged fate bemoan, Assist me with one sympathizing groan; For late I find the nations are my foes, I must submit, and that with bloody nose, Or, like our James, fly basely from the state, Or share, what still is worse —old Charles's fate.

[1779.]