Stung by the serpents whom ourselves had nurs'd. But such a train of endless woes abound, So many mischiefs in these hulks are found, That on them all a poem to prolong Would swell too high the horrors of my song-- Hunger and thirst to work our woe combine, And mouldy bread, and flesh of rotten swine, The mangled carcase, and the batter'd brain, The doctor's poison, and the captain's cane, The soldier's musquet, and the steward's debt, The evening shackle, and the noon-day threat. That juice destructive to the pangs of care Which Rome of old, nor Athens could prepare, Which gains the day for many a modern chief When cool reflection yields a faint relief, That charm, whose virtue warms the world beside, Was by these tyrants to our use denied, While yet they deign'd that healthy juice to lade The putrid water felt its powerful aid; But when refus'd--to aggravate our pains-- Then fevers rag'd and revel'd through our veins; Throughout my frame I felt its deadly heat, I felt my pulse with quicker motions beat: A pallid hue o'er every face was spread, Unusual pains attack'd the fainting head, No physic here, no doctor to assist, My name was enter'd on the sick man's list; Twelve wretches more the same dark symptoms took, And these were enter'd on the doctor's book; The loathsome _Hunter_ was our destin'd place, The _Hunter_, to all hospitals disgrace; With soldiers sent to guard us on our road, Joyful we left the _Scorpion's_ dire abode; Some tears we shed for the remaining crew, Then curs'd the hulk, and from her sides withdrew. [A] Commissary of Prisoners at New-York.--_Freneau's note._ CANTO III.--THE HOSPITAL PRISON SHIP