When a certain great King, whose initial is G., Forces stamps upon paper and folks to drink tea; When these folks burn his tea and stampt-paper, like stubble, You may guess that this King is then coming to trouble. But when a Petition he treads under feet, And sends over the ocean an army and fleet, When that army, half famished, and frantic with rage, Is cooped up with a leader whose name rhymes to _cage_; When that leader goes home, dejected and sad; You may then be assur'd the King's prospects are bad. But when B. and C. with their armies are taken This King will do well if he saves his own bacon: In the year Seventeen hundred and eighty and two A stroke he shall get, that will make him look blue; And soon, very soon, shall the season arrive, When Nebuchadnezzar to pasture shall drive. In the year eighty-three, the affair will be over And he shall eat turnips that grow in Hanover; The face of the Lion will then become pale, He shall yield fifteen teeth and be sheared of his tail-- O King, my dear King, you shall be very sore, From the _Stars_ and the _Stripes_ you will mercy implore, And your Lion shall growl, but hardly bite more.-- [Illustration] [Illustration] THE DANCE. (Published soon after the surrender of Cornwallis.) Cornwallis led a country dance, The like was never seen, sir, Much retrograde and much advance, And all with General Greene, sir. They rambled up and rambled down, Joined hands, then off they run, sir, Our General Greene to Charlestown, The earl to Wilmington, sir. Greene in the South then danced a set, And got a mighty name, sir, Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette, But suffered in his fame, sir. Then down he figured to the shore, Most like a lordly dancer, And on his courtly honor swore He would no more advance, sir. Quoth he, my guards are weary grown With footing country dances, They never at St. James's shone, At capers, kicks or prances. Though men so gallant ne'er were seen, While sauntering on parade, sir, Or wriggling o'er the park's smooth green, Or at a masquerade, sir. Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts, For stumps and briars meet, sir? Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts, Or hardy veteran feet, sir? Now housed in York, he challenged all, At minuet or all 'amande, And lessons for a courtly ball His guards by day and night conned. This challenge known, full soon there came, A set who had the bon ton, De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame Fut brillant pour un long tems. And Washington, Columbia's son, Whom easy nature taught, sir, That grace which can't by pains be won, Or Plutus's gold be bought, sir.