A Chieftain join'd with[67] Howe, Burgoyne, and Gage, Once more, nor this the last, provokes my rage-- Who saw these Nimrods first for conquest burn! Who has not seen them to the dust return? This ruffian[68] next, who scour'd our ravag'd fields, Foe to the human race,[69] Cornwallis yields!-- None e'er before essay'd such desperate crimes, Alone he stood, arch-butcher of the times, Rov'd uncontroul'd this wasted country o'er, Strew'd plains with dead, and bath'd his jaws with gore?[70] 'Twas thus the wolf, who sought by night his prey, And plunder'd all he met with on his way, Stole what he could, and murder'd as he pass'd, Chanc'd on a trap, and lost his head at last. What pen can write, what human tongue can tell The endless murders of this man of hell![71] Nature in him disgrac'd the form divine; Nature mistook, she meant him for a--swine: That eye his forehead to her shame adorns; Blush! nature, blush--bestow him tail and horns!-- By him the orphans mourn--the widow'd dame Saw ruin spreading in the wasteful flame; Gash'd o'er with wounds beheld with streaming eye A son, a brother, or a consort, die!-- Through ruin'd realms bones lie without a tomb, And souls he sped to their eternal doom, Who else had liv'd, and seen their toils again Bless'd by the genius of the rural reign. But turn your eyes, and see the murderer fall,[72] Then say--"Cornwallis has atchiev'd it all."-- Yet he preserves the honour and the fame That vanquish'd heroes only ought to claim-- Is he a hero!--Read, and you will find Heroes are beings of a different kind:-- Compassion to the worst of men is due, And mercy heaven's first attribute, 'tis true; Yet most presume it was too nobly done To grant mild terms to Satan's first-born son. Convinc'd we are, no foreign spot on earth But Britain only, gave this reptile[73] birth. That white-cliff'd isle, the vengeful dragon's[74] den, Has sent us monsters where we look'd for men. When memory paints their horrid deeds anew, And brings these murdering miscreants to your view, Then ask the leaders of these bloody bands, Can they expect compassion at our hands?-- But may this year, the glorious eighty-one, Conclude successful, as it first begun;[75] This brilliant year their total downfall see, And what Cornwallis is, may Clinton be.[76] O come the time, nor distant be the day, When our bold navy shall its wings display; Mann'd by our sons, to seek that barbarous shore,[77] The wrongs revenging that their fathers bore: As Samuel hew'd the tyrant Agag down,[78] So hew the wearer of the British crown; Unpitying, next his hated offspring slay, Or into foreign lands the fiends convey:[79] Give them their turn to pine and die in chains, 'Till not one monster[80] of the race remains. Thou, who resid'st on those thrice happy shores, Where white rob'd peace her envied blessings pours,