PART I

Long life and low spirits were never my choice, As long as I live I intend to rejoice; When life is worn out, and no wine's to be had 'Tis time enough then to be serious and sad.

'Tis time enough then to reflect and repent When our liquor is gone, and our money is spent, But I cannot endure what is practis'd by some This anticipating of evils to come:

A debt must be paid, I am sorry to say, Alike, in their turns, by the grave and the gay, And due to a despot that none can deceive Who grants us no respite and signs no reprieve.

Thrice happy is he that from care can retreat, And its plagues and vexations put under his feet; Blow the storm as it may, he is always in trim, And the sun's in the zenith forever to him.

Since the world then in earnest is nothing but care, (And the world will allow I have also my share) Yet, toss'd as I am in the stormy expanse, The best way, I find, is to leave it to chance.

Look round, if you please, and survey the wide ball And chance, you will find, has direction of all: 'Twas owing to chance that I first saw the light, And chance may destroy me before it is night!

'Twas a chance, a mere chance, that your arms gain'd the day, 'Twas a chance that the Britons so soon went away, To chance by their leaders the nation is cast And chance to perdition will send them at last.

Now because I remain when the puppies are gone You would willingly see me hang'd, quarter'd and drawn, Though I think I have logic sufficient to prove That the chance of my stay--is a proof of my love.

For deeds of destruction some hundreds are ripe, But the worst of my foes are your lads of the type: Because they have nothing to put on their shelves They are striving to make me as poor as themselves.

There's Loudon[252] and Kollock,[253] these strong bulls of Bashan, Are striving to hook me away from my station, And Holt,[254] all at once, is as wonderful great As if none but himself was to print for the State.

Ye all are convinc'd I'd a right to expect That a sinner returning you would not reject-- Quite sick of the scarlet and slaves of the throne, 'Tis now at your option to make me your own.

Suppose I had gone with the Tories and rabble To starve, or be drown'd on the shoals of cape Sable, I had suffer'd, 'tis true--but I'll have you to know, You nothing had gain'd by the voice of my woe.

You say that with grief and dejection of heart I pack'd up my awls with a view to depart, That my shelves were dismantled, my cellars unstor'd, My boxes afloat, and my hampers on board:

And hence you infer (I am sure without reason) That a right you possess to entangle my weazon-- Yet your barns I ne'er burnt, nor your blood have I spilt, And my terror alone was no proof of my guilt.

The charge may be true--for I found it in vain To lean on a staff that was broken in twain, And ere I had gone at Port Roseway to fix, I had chose to sell drams on the margin of Styx.

I confess, that, with shame and contrition opprest, I sign'd an agreement to go with the rest, But ere they weigh'd anchor to sail their last trip, I saw they were vermin, and gave them the slip.

Now, why you should call me the worst man alive, On the word of a convert, I cannot contrive, Though turn'd a plain honest republican, still You own me no proslelyte, do what I will.

My paper is alter'd--good people, don't fret; I call it no longer the _Royal Gazette_:[255] To me a great monarch has lost all his charms, I have pull'd down his Lion, and trampled his Arms.

While fate was propitious, I thought they might stand, You know I was zealous for George's command, But since he disgrac'd it, and left us behind, If I thought him an angel--I've alter'd my mind.

On the very same day that his army went hence I ceas'd to tell lies for the sake of his pence; And what was the reason--the true one is best-- I worship no suns when they move to the west:

In this I resemble a Turk or a Moor, Bright Phoebus ascending, I prostrate adore; And, therefore, excuse me for printing some lays, An ode or a sonnet in Washington's praise.

His prudence alone[256] has preserv'd your dominions, This bravest and boldest of all the Virginians! And when he is gone--I pronounce it with pain-- We scarcely shall meet with his equal again.[257]

Old Plato asserted that life is a dream And man but a shadow (whate'er he may seem)[258] By which it is plain he intended to say That man, like a shadow, must vanish away:

If this be the fact, in relation to man, And if each one is striving to get what he can, I hope, while I live, you will all think it best, To allow me to bustle along with the rest.

A view of my life, though some parts might be solemn, Would make, on the whole, a ridiculous volume: In the life that's hereafter (to speak with submission) I hope I shall publish a better edition:

Even swine you permit to subsist in the street;-- You pity a dog that lies down to be beat-- Then forget what is past--for the year's at a close-- And men of my age have some need of repose.