The Blockheads: or, The affrighted officers. A farce.

THE BLOCKHEADS.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Room with the Officers, &c.

PUFF.

WELL, gentlemen, a pretty state for British gene|rals and British troops—the terror of the world become mere scare-crows to themselves.—We came to America, flush'd with high expectations of conquest, and curbing these sons of riot.—We tour'd away in the senate as if our success was certain; as if we had only to curb a few licentious villains, or hang them as spectacles for their brethren —But how are we deceiv'd?—Instead of this agreeable employ, we are shamefully confin'd with|in the bounds of three miles, wrangling and starving a|mong ourselves.

Shal.

Curs'd alternative, either to be murder'd with|out, or starv'd within.—These yankey dogs treat us like a parcel of poltroons; they divert themselves by firing at us, as at a flock of partridges.—A man can scarcely put his nose over the intrenchments without losing it;—ano|ther loses his eyes, only looking thro' the ambuseirs.— They have a set of fellows call'd rifflers; they would shoot the very devil if he was to come within a league of them.

Capt. Bash.

Gentlemen, it will not do to set groaning here; let us determine upon some plan quickly to be done, otherwise I shall bid you farewell, and you may

follow after as well as you are able.—You find every night brings them nearer and nearer; they raise a hill and for|tify it in 6 hours —I expect soon to see a fortification grow out of the channel, and our ships of war to be blown up by some damn'd machine.—Such devils are capable of any thing; the power of miracles is put into their hands, and they improve the patent to admiration.—You must do something to dispossess them of those fortifications, otherwise we shall not only be starv'd, but absolutely murder'd.

L—d Dap.

Starv'd or murder'd are triffles, com|par'd to being taken prisoners, to be drag'd before their congresses, committees, &c.—A pack of mutton-headed fellows, with their rusty musquets, are more dread visi|tors, than a tribe of furies, just arriv'd from h—l; there|fore let us do something in earnest, or perhaps we shall be too late for relief.

Puff.

The eminence on Dorchester-hill, which they be|gan last night, they must at all hazards be dispossess'd of; we must rally our weak numbers, and drive them if pos|sible; but such is our situation, our men are become meer skeletons; their present diet renders them more ca|pable of terrifying their enemies, than fighting of them▪ —They will think the ghosts of their forefathers are coming to battle against them.—Poor devils! I pity their miserable state, but so the fates have order'd it, we can only laugh or pity each other.

L—d Dap.

Curss'd cruel fate! that we should thus be pen'd up.—Churchill's description of Scotland is but a shadow to it;—if that great genius was now alive, we should soon have a new edition with amendments.—He represents their flies and spiders, &c. as starving, but here they are absolutely starv'd—poor innocent insects, I forgive ye your former tormenting of my legs; ye suck'd 'till you could find no nourishment, and then fell at my feet and died.—Thousands have lain gasping within the small circle of my chair; their case was truly deplorable—I felt their state by experience.—My case is somewhat parallel to the prodigal son.—I may well adopt his words,

how

many hired servants of my father's, have bread enough and to spare, while I perish with hunger.

Shal.

We shall all be oblig'd to follow his example; I never thought to make an improvement of a parable, but our case is now so truly deplorable that necessity prompts me to it.—Hard crusts and rusty bones have never till now become my diet; they do not suit my digestion.— My teeth are worn to stumps, and my lips are swell'd like a blubber-mouth negro's, by thumping hard bones against them; my jaw bone has been set a dozen times, dislocated by chewing hard pork, as tough as an old swine's ass.

Puff.

Well gentlemen, we are all acquainted with each other's circumstances, but however, we cannot mend them by recounting them —Let us rally our men and drive those rebels from their fortifications, or else we may soon expect to be introduc'd to their honor's Adams and Hancock, with sundry other gentlemen of distinction▪ — My L—d Dapper must have the command, and I doubt not we shall be able to dispossess them.—Let us keep up our spirits, for we have nothing else to feed on, tho' it is a poor dish for a greedy appetite.

L—d Dap.

Some pretence must be made, as our ho|nor is at stake.

Exeunt Omnes.

SCENE II. A room with refugees, and friends to government.

Sur.

Nothing can be more wretched than our state,— vagabonds and outcasts in the world!—here we are,— friends we have none,—we fled here for protection, but how are we disappointed!—Those on whom we depended, are as miserable as ourselves!—we have been cajol'd in|to all this by that curss'd H—n,—he pleas'd us with pensions, posts of honor, and profit, but the villain has fled, and left us to shirk for ourselves.—My dwellings I have forsaken, my family are left to feed on the charity of friends, if they can find any; while I, poor wretch, have thrown myself upon the mercy of those who are un|able to help me.—My money I have let out on govern|ment security—and poor security too, I am afraid;—from

affluence and splendor, I am reduc'd to wretchedness and misery, and skulk about the streets like a dog that has lost one ear.—Oh curss'd ambition! much better had it been if I had stay'd among my countrymen, and partook quietly of the produce of my farm.—Why need I have medled in politicks, or burnt my fingers dabbling in this sea of fire —My tenants and my oxen would have been much more agreeable companions than these herd of stalking poltroons, swaggering with their swords at their a— and afraid to draw them from the scabbard.

Simp.

We have reason to blame ourselves—we have brought affairs to the present state—we were fond of the titles of Col. Esq. &c.—a gewgow of a commission was sufficient to render us enemies to our country—We contriv'd a thousand tricks to make ourselves obnoxious to our countrymen, that we might be noticed as friends to government;—we thought this would recommend us to some lucrative post:—We embrac'd the shadow of gran|deur, but the substance has fled — A bow from a general or a fifer is all the satisfaction we have for our loyalty.— I am become almost asham'd of my company; a pack of strutting pedanticks, looking like elopers from the grave▪ "grinning horribly their ghastly smiles;" gallanting their drosly nymphs, hag'd with constant use.—Sometimes I am ready to heave myself upon the mercy of my injur'd country, but the awful ideas of committees, courts of en|quiry, &c. terrify me from this expedient:—Besides, shall we stoop to submission to these miscreants;—we, Col's. Esq'rs. Iudges, &c. bow to the lordly sway of these vile villains?—I will rather perish than do it.

Sur.

Our pride is our only cordial—we have nothing else to feed on;—d-m'd poor nourishment!—we have been long fed on the sumptuous dish of expectation of re|lief, but alass! we had so keen an appetite for that, we quickly devour'd it;—the general has no further supply left him, and we are now left to famish till a fresh supply comes.— We have fled here as friends to government, but how are we treated?—We are despised, our wives ra|vag'd, and our daughters debauch'd;—honor or profit we

have none—abuse and ruin we have our ample shares of. —Much happier had we been, if instead of bowing and cringing to the great, we had minded the concerns of our farms; and instead of calculating the revenue of the nation, we had considered the income of our own stocks.

Paun.

Alass! we have all been deceived;—we have been pleased with the expectation of large reinforcements; —that conquest was certain;—and that the rebels would be speedily crushed —Flush'd with these sanguine hopes, we have buoyed ourselves amidst these seas of tumult and outrage, but now we find ourselves wofully deceived, with|out any remedy.—Victory seems to declare in favour of the country; she has fled from these brave sons of mars, and takes refuge within the cells and cottages of America.

Sur.

Well, gentlemen, you may all whine and cry, for my part I am determined to keep up my spirits, and hope for better times—why should we be so discomforted, because we have met with a little rugged treatment?— we must expect to encounter with many such trifles, but shall they discourage us? can we expect to gain honor in a silver slipper? no, we must engage with all H—l ra|ther than give up our point.—Its true, friend Paunch cannot meet with his Dainty Soups, nor feast on his fa|vourite Fish and Oil, but shall this render him peevish and fretful? I hope not—we are now to try our Loyalty, by the grand touchstone of Affliction; let us act like men, and I doubt not we shall be well rewarded.—His MAJESTY will regard us as the faithful of the land, and will recom|mence our fidelity with ample tokens of his affection.— Your poor dejected Countenances are a disgrace to the cause we are engag'd in; reconcile yourselves to your present state, and I doubt not a happy deliverance will speedily arrive.

Meagre.

Deliverance is a poor worn out, unmeaning word—I am tir'd with the sound—a word with so little meaning you cannot produce in a groce of dictionaries— Loyalty and Deliverance are pleasing words when us'd with propriety, but they are now maim'd with often handling.

Sim.

Loyalty, d—m the word and its meaning—It is only a Court Watch Word, to entrap men, and then fleece them of their property.

ACT II.

A ROOM. TABITHA and DORSA.

Tab.

When did you receive this letter?

Dor.

His servant left it with me last night.

Tab.

He acquaints me that he intends to attend at the back gate this evening, and that he shall expect me there. I shall put great confidence in your friendship; if you deceive me I am undone.

Dor.

If I deceive you, may your ruin fall on me.

Tab.

L—d Dapper has address'd me in very honora|ble terms; he proposes to carry me to England, after the present campaign, but my father (an old prig) is greatly against it, and seems tired with the company of these red coats, (as he calls them)—but this person I am deter|mined to have at all hazards.—Why should I deny my|self the pleasures and honors of this life, to please an old fool that is just leaving of them.—The title of lady is very agreeable; it is what many would jump at;—such matches do not offer every day, and I shall improve the time as dextrous as I can.

Dor.

Make hay while the sun shines, is a very good maxim.—Indeed, madam, I approve your determination; I should think you quite mad to determine otherways— who would not have a young spark if they could meet with one?—For my own part I would not lodge ano|ther night without one, if I could meet with a good offer.

Tab.

All our correspondence must go thro' your hands, you must be cautious, and watchful, for the least mishap will disconcert the whole plan.

Dor.

I am us'd to these taricks of gallantry; I have introduc'd many a young sweet-heart—you may safely trust your security in my hands.—But one thing I wou'd men|tion (excuse my boldness) this L—d Dapper labours under the disgrace of Inability.

Tab.

Inability, what do you mean? I hope he is not wanting in any thing to render the marriage state agreable. —If he is, I shall quickly throw him out of window, and

appoint a better person in his room—its true, since you hint this, it makes me somewhat suspicious, he looks like a baboon upon stilts, and I begin to be fearful of his abili|ties—however, he will serve for a cully to fleece for my indulgencies in dress and fashion

Dor.

That he may do, but for any thing else (if re|ports are true) I had rather marry my old grandfather.

Exeunt.

SCENE II. SIMPLE and his WIFE.

Sim.

The worst job that ever I did, to move to this ac|curss'd place.—A friend to government! d—m connec|tion!—my family ruin'd—myself a despis'd old fool.

Wife.

My dear, do not be so childish—I am sure we are agreeably situated, excepting our scantiness of provi|sions; but great folks do not mind such trifles—roast beef &c. only becomes hard-skin'd plough joggers—eating and drinking became us while we were rough farmers, but now I should be asham'd to be seen setting round a smoking table of provisions, craming and stuffing like a yoke of oxen.—These delicate gentlemen and ladies would despise us as yankees, to see us maunching bread and cheese, &c.— they would have very nasty ideas about us, for what goes in must come out;—Oh it makes me sick to think of it!

Sim.

You will be more sick before it is over—I wist I had now a good belly-full of what you mention; I would willingly bear the ridicule, as to the manner of it's coming out.—I believe the most delicate lady among them▪ would be glad of such stable contents, and risque the hazard of it's appearing again to the world—however▪ my dear, I have no notion of being merry—I have more serious affairs to think of.—I must acquaint you, that I am absolutely ruin'd—my whole fortune is fell either into the hands of the rebels without, or lent upon the se|curity of chance, to those within—my resources are en|tirely exhausted—I have pleas'd myself with some ap|pointment in office, but I find that will fail—we have so

many needy fellows among us, that one must make interest to be even groom to the light horse.—What to do I know not.

Wife.

Now forsooth you are going upon your old whining scheme—because you see I am acquainted with the gentry, you begin on these canting topics—you are afraid I shall ask you for a silk gown, or a new cap; that I shall want to see the plays, &c. and that you must have to bring forth some of those rusty joannes, which you have pilfer'd from your neighbours, when you was a justice. —You may depend upon it, I shall begin to want these things, and shall expect no hesitation or denial.—Do not think I am to lead my life like a mope, as when we were rusty farmers—we are now gentle-folks, and shall expect to do like gentle-folks.—Our daughter Tabitha, she must also be introduc'd into the fashionable company, not always be a drudge about house—she has now no filthy butter to chirn; she is no longer a dairy-maid, but a lady, and a GOVERNMENT LADY too, and as such she shall be sup|ported.—Who knows but some rich gentleman may fancy her, and carry her to London, and perhaps take us with her—then for it, we shall see life, and perhaps then you may get a little beef, or something else to fatten your paunch.—In short, you look so much like a skeleton, I am afraid to go to bed to you—almost begin to wish for another husband.—Come, my dear, rouse yourself, don't think about your fat farm, let it go, it is all dirty stuff, only fit for yankees.

〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Poor foolish woman! how you feast on pride! is it possible you are in earnest?—Can so much folly dwell in women?—I always thought women to be but one degree above a she ass, but you seem many degrees below—you may pretend to vaunt in all these prudish airs, but depend on it, you shall get no support from me. —As to your daughter, she may expect to incur my dis|pleasure, if she goes romping among these ladies of qua|lity.—As to rich upstarts, I had rather marry her to a good monkey, than to any figure of a man in the garrison. —What signifies putting a young girl to bed with a poor famish'd image!

Wife.

You old fool, do you think I am to be frightned out of my designs?—No, I will learn you to treat your wife with a little more good manners —I wish you would become a little more polish'd, and go into the company of gentlemen and ladies—You would there hear nothing of she asses, and such filthy farm terms.—My dear, and my honey, are the terms there made use of—thousand pretty things which I never before heard of, are whisper'd round—they can talk to one another with their eyes, and you can almost guess what they mean—none of your coarse language defiles their conversation—nothing but pure refinement.—I would not for the world go back to my former habitation, to hear the grunting of hogs— I should dye with the spleen. As to your not supplying me, I am no way concern'd about it; if you won't ano|ther will, and you may expect a pair of horns grow out of your head as large as your old bulls.

Sim.

Do, and welcome, but stand clear if you come within reach of them.

Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Garden.—Enter L—d Dapper and Tabitha.

L—d Dap.

Well, my dear, we have met, agreeable to appointment—I hope your old dad of a father has be|come more reconcil'd—the old prig is as obstinate as a mule; neither offers of profit or friendship have any a|vail with him—however, let us not disappoint ourselves of the pleasure of matrimony, for to gratify the whim of a grey-headed old fool. All things are ready; fly from this place of confinement, and let us celebrate our long expected nuptials.

Tab.

My papa, Sir, remains as determined as ever— he seems tir'd with being confin'd within the garrison—he had rather be among his farm neighbours, which makes him so fretful with all of your party —I do not think it possible ever to get his consent, but such a trifle shall ne|ver baulk my inclination—I shall throw off all reserve,

and put myself intirely under your protection—shall quit the family, and depend on your honor.

L—d Dap.

Poor girl, you will find but little of that.

Aside.

—Come let us hasten as fast as possible, as delays of this kind may prove fatal.

As they are going off, her father appears.

Sim.

Villain, what business have you with my daugh|ter?

L—d Dapper draws his sword, and Simple runs away.

SCENE IV.

Here is exhibited a prospect of the light horse, being so weak, are supported by ropes to keep them on their legs; the groom busy in giving them glisters—also, a review of their troops—the whole looking like French cooks, in a hot day's entertainment; each company favor'd with a close-stool pan.

Officers.

Gentlemen soldiers, we are now agoing to fight against these rebel dogs; be not discouraged, but let us play the man.

Soldiers.

We had much rather fight for a good pudding.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Officers, &c.

Puff.

Heaven and earth are against us, the party are entirely defeated from heaven, the wind has been so bois|terous as to drive them back. You see, gentlemen, our situation, our enemies are gaining upon us hourly, one night more perhaps will make us their prisoners—for heaven's sake let us determine upon something speedily, whether to quit the town, or try once more to rout these rebels.

Shal.

Why will you desire us to go to battle?—are you for seeing another Bunker-Hill frolic?—those devils would glory to have us come out to them, it would be sport to the dogs, to see us breaking our shins, tumbling

over each other.—I esteem my life beyond my honor, and am not for throwing it away for the diversion of a parcel of yankees—If we cannot hold the garrison by keeping in, for God's sake, let's beat a retreat; but the LORD knows where; however, I had rather heave myself upon the mercy of the sea, than be taken their prisoner: —Who but a mad man would trust himself out of these entrenchments? it is certain death.—I am for fighting, where there is some prospect of coming off clear; but here venture yourself out, and I would not insure you for 100 per cent.—d—n the devils, they excel their very fa|ther Belzebub for fighting.—I had rather engage with a squadron just arrived from the lower-regions, than with those curst fellows on yonder hill.

L—d Dapper.

You are quite right—such herds of men are enough to scare Hannibal, and all the heroes that ever lived,—look! what millions there are!—the inha|bitants of the four quarters of the globe (excepting our|selves) are now on those hills!—for heaven's sake, let us improve the time, and retreat as fast as possible—I shall expect all the fishes of the sea to turn men, and become our enemies, let us improve our passport while the inha|bitants of the sea are at peace.

Dupe.

Now B—e, here is more matter for humor, you may now give us a second edition of your farce.—This is beyond all expectation!—a fine story to tell my L—d N—h! but he is at helm, he may risk his own head if he will, I am determined not to hazard mine for his whims— he may go fight them one after another, if he pleases, he shall not catch me to run his tom-fool errands—the minis|try and the parliament may come over, and hold their courts in Boston, and may send forth, and execute their acts if they think fit, they shall not find me fool enough to run my head against a cannon ball, to execute their d—m silly acts.—I never would have come on this expedition, if I had had the least intimation of the bravery of this people.—I thought a bright sword, and a smart cock'd hat, would effectually have terrified these fellows into submis|sion, but I find the contrary, and have no inclination to try their skill at man killing.

Shal.

If I had a scolding wife, perhaps I would venture myself within a hundred yards of those hills; but while I have not, you shall find me far enough from them; and I don't care how much farther.—Our ministry think sol|diers were made to be fir'd at as sport, but I hope on this occasion they will find themselves deceived,—for my part, I am determined to secure a place of safety;—if any have a mind to go out, let them, they have my good wishes for their return; but if they regard their lives, I advise all, and every one to keep within the entrenchments—I would rather sh—t my breeches than go without these forts to ease myself.

Puff.

D—m them, I know the fellows by experience, —I remember Bunker-Hill—I shall never forget them, for their civility to me—their cock'd eye taking sight, makes my very blood run cold—how I came off alive is a miracle; whiz, whiz, whiz, good Lord, how it makes me shudder to think of it!—no, no, my lads, you shan't catch me among you, while I am out of your reach, I will keep out—In short, gentlemen, it will not do to be looking at them; they seem preparing to come nearer us, let us give out the alarm for a retreat immediately; we must determine where to go, after we are without the reach of these disagreeable visitors.

All.

As speedy as possible.

SCENE II. A Room with Refugees and Friends to Government.

Sur.

A retreat, is it possible!—shall the British troops ever suffer such disgrace, as to flee from a parcel of yan|kees?—we have been fed up with high notions of the power and resolution of these troops—but I find, when the matter becomes serious, they are as terrify'd as old women— the General has made a sham attempt to dispossess them of their fortifications, but has withdrawn them with the pre|tence of the wind being two boisterous—what a pretty hobble are we in, to be drove away from our only place

of security—but I find our strong holds are become meer shadows of safety.— A very agreeable employ, for gentle|men to be running after a pack of cowards, and what is more miserable to depend on them for protection.—If I could once get clear of my present state, you should never find me again to depend on a broken reed.

Bon.

It signifies nothing to fret, and find fault among ourselves, but let us be for securing a retreat as fast as possible—let us be packing up our alls, and making our best way off.—I have ruin'd my fortune, tagging after these poltroons—I will now trouble them with my com|pany—if they cannot protect me, they shall maintain me; while they have any thing to eat themselves, I am deter|mined to partake.—Poor encouragement for friends to go|vernment; if they don't find better reception than we have met with, they will have but few volunteers.

Sim.

As to depending on their generosity for mainte|nance, I have no notion of. I have a more effectual way to support myself—I shall look out for snacks among the booty, left in the town, by their runaway owners—I shall improve the opportunity while pilfering is in the fashion; the General has set us a very pretty example.

Mea.

Is this the sad alternative, either to heave our|selves upon the mercy of our countrymen, or run away with a parcel of cowards?—but however, as matters are so circumstanced, we must make the best of it.—I have a considerable quantity of the province money, which will serve to procure me a scanty maintenance in our retreat —sad state! half famish'd on land, and pent within the garrison for 10 months, am now oblig'd to put to sea, to vomet up what little guts I have remaining I crust cruel fate! are our high expectations come to this?—reinforce|ments, and the Lord knows what all become meer bug-bears? farewel Boston, the once happy seat of my residence— farewel friends, and countrymen, I leave ye all, to go I know not where.

Brig. Paunch.

Gentlemen, we have just received or|ders from the General to prepare speedily for a retreat, the garrison is all in alarm, every one is driving helter

skelter—you must be careful how you walk the streets otherways you will break your shins▪ or perhaps your necks in the general confusion—if I was not so intimately con|vinc'd, the sight would be the most diverting that ever I beheld—but our circumstances will not admit of specula|tion, let us be gone, for the rebels are just upon us.

Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room with Simple and Wife.

Sim.

Well, my dear, what think now of your agree|able situation; your filthy farm, and coarse roast beef, &c. nasty stuff!—what is the matter with your refined com|pany that they fly away so abruptly, methinks they might have been polite enough to have given us some little notice of their retreat; not run away like a parcel of mice, when the cat comes among them.—I have for a long while been fearful of this, but found my mistake too late—I have outstay'd my day of grace, and find I must follow these ranters a wild goose chase over land and sea—I am tir'd of the chace! my family is ruin'd, and my daughter I am afraid, is debauch'd by a painted monkey, who I saw with her at the gate—the villain drew his sword upon me, but like a true British general, I thought fit to run away.

Wife.

I wonder, my dear, you should complain at go|ing abroad—I am fond of seeing the world—what signi|fies always to be pen't up within the smoke of our own chimnies?—why should we not travel like other gentle|folks, to learn the manners and customs of other nations? must we always remain as ignorant as our brown bread neighbours and know nothing more of the world than what is transacted within our own parish?—for my part I am determined to extend my knowledge, and follow the fleet from one end of the world to the other, rather than remain as ignorant as our parson's wife.—The ru|mour is, that we are going to Halifax; a rich, flourish|ing

populous city, where nature wantons in all her luxury; where we may enjoy and divert ourselves, without being seaz'd with the constant alarms of the devilish yankees— 〈◊〉〈◊〉 them, I wish they were all under your cyder press, and I had the screwing of it.—Rouse up you old Laza|rus, and betake yourself, with your wife and family, aboard the ships; don't you hear the drums beat the alarm?

Sim.

Worse and worse! greater fool than ever; it seems to grow upon you—I presume you have made geo|graphy your study, you are so well acquainted with the ••lime and soil of Halifax:—rich and luxurious to admi|ration!—experience is the best school master—you are for seeing the world, and here perhaps you may be satis|fy'd by seeing the a—s of it.—I find you are a fresh water sailor, and will make but a miserable figure aboard the ship, along side of your polite company.—I shall pity your modesty, when what is in will come out, and perhaps at both ends.—Pray, my dear, was you ever sea sick?—I pre|sume not—oh! I shudder at the thought!

Wife.

Don't tantalize me no longer—I will not bear any more of your freedom—pray what do you mean by coming out at both ends?—I like no such coarse phrazes; if I had fifty ends, my modesty should forbid any thing from coming out of either—I know how to behave my|self, and keep all ends safe.—Let us be going quickly.

Sim.

Gang along, with the devil to you.—Curse my fate, to be yok'd to an old fool of a wife, and scampering after a herd of runaway cowards.

A Barrack—with Soldiers and Women.

Sol.

Ha, ha, ha,—yankee doodle forever—I wish Lord North was here, to see his brave troops in their pre|sent plight, running away with their breeches down—who can help laughing at what a tom fool's errand we have been sent upon—we were sent here to ransack the coun|try, and hang up a parcel of leading fellows for the crows to pick, and awe all others into peace and submissi|on—instead

of this, in our first attempt we were drove thro' the country, like a pack of jack asses, nor stop'd run|ning 'till we had got within Boston, where we had been for|tify'd for six months—here we were confin'd, reduc'd to skeletons, our bones standing sentry thro' our skins—we ventur'd out once more to dispossess them of Bunker-hill, we gain'd the ground, but if we are to purchase the whole land of America at so dear a rate, the Lord have mercy upon us.—We have receiv'd reinforcements, but they only serv'd to fill up the vacancies made at Bunker-hill frolic—large force of artillery, light horse, and the devil knows what, have come to our assistance, but what has been our luck? loss of men, of honor, of flesh, and to crown the whole, are now running away, as fast as we can scamper.

Sol.

A pretty story this in the British annals—an ever|lasting disgrace will attend the transactions in America.— Our best generals, with a force of artillery, sufficient one would think, to storm the regions of Belzebub—the most experienc'd troops his Majesty has; a capital navy; yet, with all this force, our generals dare not peep over the entrenchments—are confin'd within three miles of garrison, writing and acting comedies—dismantling meet|ing houses to exercise their horses, to prevent their having the scurvy—our troops hag'd and famish'd, for want of re|freshments—our navy lying at anchor, while the priva|teers are depriving us of our supplies.—"MISTERIOUS! UNEXAMPLED! INCOMPREHENSIBLE!"—Disgrace too great for the spirit of Britons!—Not an action have we done, that has been any way to our honor or profit—it is 〈◊〉〈◊〉, we have set a few towns on fire, but like champi|ons, took care to go where there was not even a pistol for defence.

Sol.

Nothing can be more diverting, than to see the town in its present situation—all is uproar and confusion—carts, trucks, wheel barrows, hand barrows, coaches, chaise, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 driving as if the very devil was after them. Our ge|nerals look as wild as stags, when pursu'd by the hounds; they are startled at every noise; they think the rebels

are just upon them.—Orders are given for blocking up the streets, that the rebels may break their shins, if they pur|sue us—we have also a parcel of stuff'd images, looking like devils behind the pope, to be fix'd up as senteries; a fit emblem of ourselves—Burgoyne could not have con|triv'd a prettier satyr—our ambuseirs are fill'd with wood|en guns; d—m such wooden-headed commanders—to crown the whole, they should have had an effigy with a barber's block-head, as engineer.—Oh Briton! your dis|grace makes my very blood dance the hornpipe.—The poor yankee refugees, run backwards and forwards, like a parcel of cats let out of a bag—I would give half mm pay, that some droll blade was here to describe the ludri|cous scenery.

Sol.

The beauty of the whole is aboard the ships—the yankee refugees with their wives, cut a most ridiculous figure—vomiting, crying, cooking, eating, all in a heap.— was ready to burst my sides in laughing, to see the ladies scampering into the vessels, tumbling one over another showing their legs, &c.—One fellow in his hurry, pitch over board, and was kind enough to remain there—〈◊〉〈◊〉 whole scene was sufficient to raise the risibles of the c••••••ing philosopher—in short, words cannot describe it; the stow like a litter of pigs, or like a young brood of span|iels; they even spew in one another's mouths.

Women.

Good enough for them, they have brought it upon themselves; they had better have minded their farms, not have run here to be a ridicule to both p••••ties.—If I had a good farm, I would see government the devil, before they should catch me here, to be fro•••• famish'd, ridicul'd—curse them and their spiritless pro|tectors, and let's conclude with huzzas for America.

FINIS.