Hail, great destroyer (equalled yet by none) Of countries not your master's, nor your own; Hatched by some demon on a stormy day, Satan's best substitute to burn and slay; Confined at last, hemmed in by land and sea, Burgoyne himself was but a type of thee! Like his, to freedom was your deadly hate, Like his your baseness, and be his your fate: To you, like him, no prospect Nature yields, But ruined wastes and desolated fields[55]-- In vain you raise the interposing wall, And hoist those standards that, like you, must fall, In you conclude the glories of your race, Complete your monarch's and your own disgrace. What has your lordship's pilfering arms attained?-- Vast stores of plunder, but no State regained-- That may return, though you perhaps may groan, Restore it, Charley,[56] for 'tis not your own-- Then, lord and soldier, headlong to the brine Rush down at once--the devil and the swine. Wouldst thou at last with Washington engage, Sad object of his pity, not his rage? See, round thy posts how terribly advance The chiefs, the armies, and the fleets of France;[57] Fight while you can, for warlike Rochambeau Aims at your head his last decisive blow, Unnumbered ghosts from earth untimely sped, Can take no rest till you, like them, are dead-- Then die, my Lord; that only chance remains To wipe away dishonourable stains, For small advantage would your capture bring, The plundering servant of a bankrupt king. [54] This did not appear in the _Freeman's Journal_. In the edition of 1786 it bore the title, "To Lord Cornwallis, at York, Virginia, October 8, 1781." [55] Cornwallis arrived in Virginia from his Southern campaign early in the summer of 1781, and immediately began with extreme vigor to subjugate that State. His cruelty and severity were exceptional, even in the annals of war. "The Americans of that day," says Bancroft, "computed that Cornwallis, in his midsummer marchings up and down Virginia, destroyed property to the value of three million pounds sterling." [56] "Ruffian."--_Ed. 1786._ [57] On October 8th, Cornwallis, at York, was surrounded by the American army, who had just completed the first line of trenches. The redoubts were so far enough completed on the 9th that the Americans and French felt ready to begin the bombardment of the British works. A LONDON DIALOGUE[58] Between My Lords, Dunmore and Germaine _Dunmore_ Ever since I return'd to my dear native shore, No poet in Grubstreet was ever dunned more-- I'm dunned by my barber, my taylor, my groom; How can I do else than to fret and to fume? They join to attack me with one good accord, From morning till night 'tis "my lord, and my lord." And there comes the cobler, so often denied-- If I had him in private, I'd thresh his tough hide. _Germaine_