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

RIVINGTON'S REFLECTIONS.* 1.1

I.

THE more I reflect, the more plain it appears, If I stay, I must stay at the risque of my ears, I have so be-pepper'd the foes of our throne, Be-rebel'd, be-devil'd, and told them their own, That if we give up to these rebels at last, 'Tis a chance if my ears will atone for the past.

'Tis always the best to provide for the worst — So evacuation I'll mention the first: If Carleton should sail for our dear native shore (As Clinton, Cornwallis, and Howe did before) And take off the soldiers that serve for our guard, (A step that the Tories would think rather hard) Yet still I surmise, for aught I can see, No Congress or Senates would meddle with me.

For, what have I done, when we come to consider, But sold my commodities to the best bidder? If I offer'd to lie for the sake of a post, Was I to be blam'd if the king offer'd most? The King's Royal Printer! —Five hundred a year!—— Between you and me, 'twas a handsome affair: Who would not for that give matters a stretch And lie back and forward, and carry and fetch. May have some pretensions to honour and fame: — But what are they both but the sound of a name, Mere words to deceive us, as I have found long since, Live on them a week, and you'll find them but nonsense.

The late news from Charleston my mind has perplext, If that is abandon'd, —I know what goes next: This city of YORK is a place of great note, And that we should hold it I now give my vote; But what are our votes against Shelburne's decrees? These people at helm steer us just where they please, So often they've had us all hands on the brink, They'll steer us at last to the devil, I think. And though in the danger themselves have a share, It will do us small good that they also go there.

It is true that the Tories, their children, and wives Have offer'd to stay, at the rifque of their lives, And gain to themselves an immortal renown By ALL turning soldiers, and keeping the town: Whoe'er was the Tory that struck out the plan, In my humble conceit, was a very good man: But our words on this subject need be very few —

Already I see that it never will do: For, suppose a few ships should be left us by Britain With Tories to man them, and other things fitting, In truth we should be in a very fine box, As well they might guard us with ships on the stocks, And when I beheld them aboard and afloat, I am sure I should think of the bear in the boat.

On the faith of a Printer, things look very black — And what shall we do, alas! and alack! Shall we quit our young princes and full blooded peers, And bow down to viscounts and French chevaliers? Perhaps you may say, "As the very last shift "We'll go to New Scotland, and take the king's gift:"

Good folks, do your will but I vow and I swear, I'll be boil'd into soup before I'll live there: Is it thus that our monarch his subjects degrades? — Let him go and be damn'd with his axes and spades: — Of all the vile countries that ever were known In the frigid, or torrid, or temperate zone, (From accounts that I've had) there is not such another; It neither belongs to this world or the other: A favour they think it to send us there gratis, To sing like the Jews at the river Euphrates, And, after surmounting the rage of the billows, Hang ourselves up at last with our harps on the willows: Ere I sail for that shore, may I take my last nap — Why, it gives me the palsy to look on its map! And he that goes there (though I mean to be civil) May fairly be said to have gone to the Devil.

Shall I push for Old England, and whine at the throne? Alas! they have JEMMIES enough of their own! Besides, such a name I have got from my trade, They would think I was lying, whatever I said; Thus scheme as I will, or contrive as I may, Continual difficulties rise in the way: In short, if they let me remain in this realm, What is it to Jemmy who stands at the helm? I'll petition the rebels (if York is forsaken) For a place in their Zion which ne'er shall be shaken; I am sure they'll be clever: it seems their whole study: They hung not young ASGILL for old captain HUDDY,* 1.2

And it must be a truth that admits no denying, If they spare us for MURDER they'll spare us for LYING.

II.

FOLKS may think as they please, but to me it would seem, That our great men at home have done nothing but dream: Such trimming and twisting and shifting about, And some getting in, and others turn'd out; And yet, with their bragging and looking so big, All they did was to dance a theatrical jig.

Seven years now, and more, we have try'd every plan, And are just as near conquering as when we began, Great things were expected from Clinton and Howe, But what have they done, or where are they now? Sir Guy was sent over to kick up a dust, Who already prepares to return in disgust — The object delusive we wish to attain

Has been in our reach, and may be so again — But so oddly does heaven its bounties dispense, And has granted our king such a small share of sense That, let Fortune favour or smile as she will, We are doom'd to drive on, like a horse in a mill, And though we may seem to advance on our rout, 'Tis but to return to where we sat out.

From hence I infer (by way of improvement) That nothing is got by this circular movement; And I plainly perceive, from this fatal delay, We are going to ruin the round-about way! Some nations, like ships, give up to the gale, And are hurry'd ashore with a full flowing sail; So Sweden submitted to absolute power, And freemen were chang'd to be slaves in an hour; Thus THEODORE soon from his grandeur came down, Forsaking his subjects and Corsican crown;* 1.3

But we —'tis our fate, without ally or friend, To go to perdition, close haul'd to the wind.

The case is too plain, that if I stay here I have something to hope and somewhat to fear: In regard to my carcase, I should n't mind that — I can say "I have liv'd," and have grown very fat; Have been in my day remarkably shifty, And soon, very soon, will be verging on fifty. 'Tis time for the state of the dead to prepare, 'Tis time to consider how things will go there; Some few are admitted to Jupiter's hall, But the dungeons* 1.4 of Pluto are open to all — The day is approaching as fast as it can When Jemmy shall be a mere moderate man, Shall sleep under ground both summer and winter, The husk of a man, and the shell of a printer, And care not a farthing for George or his line, What empires start up, or what kingdoms decline.

Our parson last Sunday brought tears from my eyes, When he told us of heaven, I thought of my lies — To his flock he describ'd it, and laid it before 'em, (As if he had been in its Sanctum Sanctorum) Recounted its beauties that never shall fade, And quoted John Bunyan to prove what he said;

Debarr'd from the gate who the Truth should deny, Or "whosoe'er loveth or maketh a lie."

Thro' the course of my life it has still been my lot In spite of myself, to say "things that are not," And therefore suspect that upon my decease Not a poet will leave me to slumber in peace, But at least once a week be-scribble the stone Where Jemmy, poor Jemmy, lies sleeping alone!

Howe'er in the long run these matters may be, If the scripture is true, it has bad news for me — And yet, when I come to examine the text, And the learn'd annotations that POOLE has annex'd, Throughout the black list of the people that sin I cannot once find that I'm mention'd therein; Whoremongers, idolaters, all are left out, And wizzards, and dogs (which is proper, no doubt) But he who says I'm there, mistakes or forgets — It mentions no PRINTERS of ROYAL GAZETTES!

In truth, I have need of a mansion of rest, And here to remain might suit me the best — PHILADELPHIA in some things would answer as well, (Some Tories are there, and my papers might sell) But then I should live amongst wrangling and strife, And be forc'd to say credo the rest of my life: For their sudden conversion I'm much at a loss — I am told that they bow to the wood of the cross, And worship the reliques transported from Rome, St. Peter's toe-nails and St. Anthony's comb. — If thus the true faith they no longer defend

I scarcely can think where the madness will end — If the greatest among them submit to the Pope, What reason have I for indulgence to hope? If the Congress themselves to the CHAPEL did pass,* 1.5 Ye may swear that poor JEMMY would have to sing mass.

[Dec. 1782.]

Notes

• * 1.1

  The first part of this poem was republished in the Royal Gazette, at New York, of December 14, 1782, with the following introduction:—"Mr. Rivington, having been appplied to by many Gentlemen for a pleasant publication respecting himself, exhibited in the Philadelphia Freeman's Journal, of December 4th, takes leave to copy it into this Day's Gazette, and assures the Author that a Column shall at any time be most cheerfully reserved to convey that Gentleman's lively Lucubrations to the Public." The original publication of the "Reflections" had the motto from Virgil:

  Inclusus pœnam expectat.
• * 1.2

  Irving thus tells the story of "Old Huddy:"—"A marauding New York refugee, in 1782, had been captured by the Jersey people, and killed in attempting to escape from those who were conducting him to Monmouth jail. His partisans in New York determined on a signal revenge. Captain Joseph Huddy, an ardent whig, who had been captured when bravely defending a block-house in Monmouth County, and carried captive to New York, was now drawn forth from prison, conducted into the Jerseys by a party of refugees, headed by a Captain Lippencott, and hanged on the heights of Middletown, with a label affixed to his breast, bearing the inscription, 'Up goes Huddy for Philip White.' A popular outcry for retaliation ensued. Washington felt the necessity for action, submitted the matter to a board of officers, and, in accordance with their determination, demanded of Sir Henry Clinton, that Captain Lippencott or the officer who had ordered the execution should be given up. If this were not complied with, wrote Washington, 'I shall hold myself justifiable in the eyes of God and man for the measure to which I will resort.' Clinton declined to surrender Lippencott, but stated that he had ordered an investigation into the circumstances, and would bring the perpetrator of the deed to trial. Washington, strengthened in his purpose by a resolution of Congress, then ordered one of the British officers, prisoners at Lancaster, Pa., to be chosen by lot for retaliation. The lot fell upon Captain Charles Asgill of the Guards, an amiable youth of nineteen, and the son of a wealthy baronet. His situation excited the sympathy of his brother British officers, and their indignation at Clinton in subjecting him to the penalty by not giving up the offender. One of their number, Captain Ludlow, was allowed to go to New York to represent the matter to Sir Guy Carleton, the new Commander-in-chief. Asgill, meanwhile, was courteously treated, but firmly detained to await the result. Lippencott was finally tried by a court-martial, and acquited, on the ground of having received verbal orders from Governor Franklin, president of the board of associated loyalists. The British commander reprobated the death of Captain Huddy, and broke up the board. Under these circumstances, Washington, reluctant to press the penalty involved, admitted Captain Asgill on parole, and requested the action of Congress to set him at liberty. Lady Asgill, the mother of the youth, anxious for her son's safety, had, in the mean time gained the ear of the French minister, the Count de Vergennes, with a supplication for his intercession, which, under the direction of the king and queen, was made. Washington laid the Count's application before Congress, which now took a favourable view of the matter, and Captain Asgill, greatly to the relief of Washington, was released."—Irving's Life of Washington, iv. 394-7. SPARKS'S Life and Writings of Washington, viii. 301, and sequel.
• * 1.3

  Theodore Baron Newhoff, an enthusiastic German military adventurer, who was proclaimed king of Corsica in 1736. After passing eight months on the island, assuming various marks of royalty, he left his "kingdom" to solicit aid on the Continent; but failed to carry his further schemes of sovereignty into effect. He ended his days in great poverty in London, where he was confined, not long before his death, which happened in 1756, as a prisoner for debt. Horace Walpole took an imaginative interest in his fortunes, and wrote a very pleasant paper in the World (No. viii., Feb. 22, 1753) in his behalf, suggesting a subscription for his relief. A considerable sum was, in consequence, collected for the fallen monarch. "How must I blush for my countrymen," writes Walpole, "when I mention a monarch! an unhappy monarch, now actually suffered to languish for debt in one of the common prisons of this city! A monarch whose courage raised him to a throne, not by a succession of ambitious, bloody acts, but by the voluntary election of an injured people, who had the common right of mankind to freedom, and the uncommon resolution of determining to be free! This prince is Theodore, king of Corsica! a man whose claim to royalty is as indisputable as the most ancient titles to any monarchy can pretend to be; that is, the choice of his subjects; the only kind of title allowed in the excellent Gothic constitutions, from whence we derive our own; the same kind of title which endears the present royal family to Englishmen; and the only kind of title against which, perhaps, no objection can lie."
• * 1.4

  "But the kitchen of Pluto is open to all."—ED. 1795.
• * 1.5

  "On the 4th of November last, the clergy and selectmen of Boston paraded through the streets after a crucifix, and joined in a procession in praying for a departed foul out of Purgatory; and for this they gave the example of Congress, and other American leaders, on a former occasion at Philadelphia, some of whom, in the height of their zeal, even went so far as to sprinkle themselves with what they call Holy water."—Royal Gazette, of December 11. inst.