First printed in The Freeman's Journal, of which Freneau was editor, in January and February of 1783. It was immediately reprinted in Loudon's New York Packet and is in all editions of Freneau's Works, in which latter it is greatly revised. It is to be questioned if Gaine ever wrote a petition-see infra page 62.

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City of New York, Jan. 1, 1783.

O the Senate of York, with all due submission,
Of honest HUGH GAINE the bumble Petition;
An Account of his Life he will also prefix,
And some trifles that happened in Seventy-Six;
He hopes that your honours will take no offence,
If he sends you some groans of contrition from hence,
And, further to prove that he's truly sincere,
He wishes you all a Happy New Year.

I

And, first, he informs, in his representation,
That he once was a printer of good reputation,
And dwelt in the street call'd Hanover Square,
(You'll know where it is, if you ever was there.)
Next door to the dwelling of Doctor Brownjohn,
(Who now to the drug-shop of Pluto is gone).
But what do I say-whoe'er came to town,
And knew not HUGH GAINE at the Bible and Crown.
Now, if I was ever so given to lie,

My dear native country I wouldn't deny ;

(I know you love Teagues) and I shall not conceal
That I came from the kingdom where Phelim O'Neale
And other brave worthies ate butter and cheese,
And walk'd in the clover-fields up to their knees :
Full early in youth, without basket or burden,
With a staff in my hand, I pass'd over Jordan.

1 The Legislature of the State was at this time in session at Fishkill.

(I remember my comrade was doctor McGraw, And many strange things on the waters we saw, Sharks, dolphins, and sea-dogs, bonettas and whales, And birds of the tropic, with quills in their tails), * And came to your city and government seat, And found it was true you had something to eat; When thus I wrote home-" The country is good, They have plenty of victuals and plenty of wood: "The people are kind and whate'er they may think, "I shall make it appear I can swim where they'll sink; "And yet they're so brisk and so full of good cheer, "By my soul I expect they have always New Year, "And therefore conceive it is good to be here." So said, and so acted-I put up a press, And printed away with amazing success; Neglected my person and, looked like a fright, Was bothered all day, and was busy all night, Saw money come in, as the papers went out, While Parker and Weyman were driving about, And cursing, and swearing, and chewing their cuds, And wishing Hugh Gaine and his press in the suds: Ned Weyman was printer, you know, to the king, And thought he had got all the world in a string, (Though riches not always attend on a throne) So he swore I had found the philosopher's stone, And called me a rogue and a son of a bitch, Because I knew better than him to get rich.

To malice like that 'twas in vain to reply-
You had known by his looks he was telling a lie.
Thus life ran away, so smooth and serene-
Ah! these were the happiest days I had seen!
But the saying of Jacob I've found to be true,
"The days of thy servant are evil and few."
The days that to me were joyous and glad,
Are nothing to those which are dreary and sad!

The feuds of the Stamp-Act foreboded foul weather,

And war and vexation all coming together:

Those days were the days of riots and mobs,

Tar, feathers, and tories, and troublesome jobbs—
Priests preaching up war for the good of our souls,
And libels, and lying, and Liberty-Poles,

From which, when some whimsical colours you wav'd,
We had nothing to do, but look up and be sav'd—
(You thought, by resolving, to terrify Britain-
Indeed, if you did, you were damnably bitten)
I knew it would bring an eternal reproach,
When I saw you a-burning Cadwallader's coach;
I knew you would suffer for what you had done,
When I saw you lampooning poor Sawney his son,
And bringing him down to so wretched a level,
As to ride him about in a cart with the devil.

II

Well, as I predicted that matters would be—

To the stamp-act succeeded a tax upon Tea:

What chest-fulls were scatter'd, and trampled, and drown'd,
And yet the whole tax was but three pence per pound!
May the hammer of Death on my noddle descend,
And Satan torment me to time without end,

If this was a reason to fly into quarrels,

And feuds that have ruin'd our manners and morals;

A parson himself might have sworn round the compass,
That folks for a trifle should make such a rumpus,
Such a rout as to set half the world in a rage,
Make France, Spain and Holland with Britain engage,
While the Emperor, the Swede, the Russ, and the Dane
All pity JOHN BULL-and ran off with his gain.

But this was the season that I must lament

I first was a Whig with an honest intent;

Not a Rebel among them talk'd louder or bolder,

With his sword by his side, or his gun on his shoulder;
Yes, I was a whig, and a whig from my heart,
But still was unwilling with Britain to part-
I thought to oppose her was foolish and vain,
I thought she would turn and embrace us again,

And make us happy as happy could be,
By renewing the era of mild SIXTY-THREE:
And yet, like a cruel, undutiful son,

Who evil returns for the good to be done,
Unmerited odium on Britain to throw,

I printed some treason for PHILIP FRENEAU,
Some damnable poems reflecting on GAGE,

The KING and his COUNCIL, and writ with such rage,
So full of invective, and loaded with spleen,

So sneeringly smart, and so hellishly keen,
That, at least in the judgment of half our wise men,
ALECTO herself put the nib to his pen.

III

At this time arose a certain king SEARS, Who made it his study to banish our fears: He was, without doubt, a person of merit, Great knowledge, some wit, and abundance of spirit; Could talk like a lawyer, and that without fee, And threaten'd perdition to all that drank TEA. Long sermons did he against Scotchmen prepare, And drank like a German, and drove away care. Ah! don't you remember what a vigorous hand he put To drag off the great guns, and plague Captain Vandeput.' That night when the HERO (his patience worn out) Put fire to his cannons and folks to the rout, And drew up his ship with a spring on her cable, And gave us a second confusion of Babel,

3

And (what was more solid than scurrilous language)
Pour'd on us a tempest of round shot and langrage;
Scarce a broadside was ended 'till another began again-
By Jove! it was nothing but Fire away. Flannagan! 3
Some thought him SALUTING his Sally's and Nancy's
'Till he drove a round shot through the roof of Sam Francis*
The town by his flashes was fairly enlighten'd,

The women miscarry'd, the beaus were all frighten'd;

men.

1 Captain of the Asia. August, 1775. 3 A cant phrase among privateers

4

A noted inn-holder in New York.