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Revolutionary Songs and Ballads.

YANKEE DOODLE.

["The Yankee's Return from Camp." From a Collection made by Isaiah Thomas, 1813.]

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And there I see a pumpkin shell

As big as mother's bason;
And every time they touched it off,
They scampered like the nation.

I see a little barrel too,

The heads were made of leather,
They knocked upon't with little clubs
And called the folks together.

And there was Captain Washington,
And gentlefolks about him,
They say he's grown so tarnal proud
He will not ride without 'em.

He got him on his meeting clothes,
Upon a slapping stallion,

He set the world along in rows,
In hundreds and in millions.

The flaming ribbons in his hat,
They looked so tearing fine ah,

I wanted pockily to get,

To give to my Jemimah.

I see another snarl of men

A digging graves, they told me,

So tarnal long, so tarnal deep,

They 'tended they should hold me.

It scared me so, I hooked it off,
Nor stopped, as I remember,
Nor turned about, till I got home,
Locked up in mother's chamber.

TAXATION OF AMERICA.

[Written by Peter St John, of Norwalk, Connecticut, in 1778.]

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The cruel lords of Britain,
Who glory in their shame,
The project they have hit on
They joyfully proclaim;
'Tis what they're striving after
Our right to take away,
And rob us of our charter
In North America.

There are two mighty speakers,

Who rule in Parliament, Who ever have been seeking Some mischief to invent;

'Twas North, and Bute his father, The horrid plan did lay

A mighty tax to gather
In North America.

They searched the gloomy regions

Of the infernal pit,

To find among their legions

One who excelled in wit;

To ask of him assistance,

Or tell them how they may Subdue without resistance This North America.

Old Satan the arch-traitor,
Who rules the burning lake,
Where his chief navigator,
Resolved a voyage to take;
For the Britannic ocean
He launches far away,

To land he had no notion

In North America.

He takes his seat in Britain,
It was his soul's intent
Great George's throne to sit on,

And rule the Parliament;
His comrades were pursuing

A diabolic way,
For to complete the ruin
Of North America.

He tried the art of magic
To bring his schemes about,

At length the gloomy project

He artfully found out;

The plan was long indulged

In a clandestine way, But lately was divulgèd In North America.

These subtle arch-combiners
Addressed the British court,
All three were undersigners
Of this obscure report-
There is a pleasant landscape
That lieth far away
Beyond the wide Atlantic,
In North America.

There is a wealthy people,

Who sojourn in that land, Their churches all with steeples Most delicately stand;

Their houses like the gilly,

Are painted red and gay:

They flourish like the lily
In North America.

Their land with milk and honey

Continually doth flow,

The want of food or money

They seldom ever know: They heap up golden treasure, They have no debts to pay, They spend their time in pleasure In North America.

On turkeys, fowls and fishes,

Most frequently they dine,

With gold and silver dishes
Their tables always shine.

They crown their feasts with butter,

They eat, and rise to play; In silks their ladies flutter,

In North America.

With gold and silver laces

They do themselves adorn,
The rubies deck their faces,
Refulgent as the morn!
Wine sparkles in their glasses,
They spend each happy day
In merriment and dances
In North America.

Let not our suit affront you,
When we address your throne;
O King, this wealthy country
And subjects are your own,
And you, their rightful sovereign,
They truly must obey,
You have a right to govern
This North America.

O King, you've heard the sequel Of what we now subscribe:

Is it not just and equal

To tax this wealthy tribe?
The question being asked,
His majesty did say,
My subjects shall be taxed
In North America.

Invested with a warrant,
My publicans shall go,
The tenth of all their current
They surely shall bestow;
If they indulge rebellion,

Or from my precepts stray,
I'll send my war battalion
To North America.

I'll rally all my forces

By water and by land, My light dragoons and horses Shall go at my command; I'll burn both town and city, With smoke becloud the day, I'll show no human pity

For North America.

Go on, my hearty soldiers,

You need not fear of illThere's Hutchinson and Rogers, Their functions will fulfilThey tell such ample stories, Believe them sure we may, One-half of them are tories In North America.

My gallant ships are ready
To waft you o'er the flood,
And in my cause be steady,

Which is supremely good;

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