Ballad of Pegasus of Apollo, March 1787
Ballad of Pegasus of Apollo, March 1787
Pegasus of Apollo!
A SONG (Tune Black Sloven.)
Come, come my bold boxers, 'tis Liberty calls,
Hark, hark, how she lustily bawls, and bawls!
It is high time, if ever for mobbin 'twas time;
To mobbing, ye chicks of dame Liberty run;
Scour up the old whinyard, and brush the old gun;
Freedom we'll chime,
While Tag, Rag, and Bobtail,
Lead up our decorum, Huzza!
Sure these are the plaguiest of all plaguy times,
When villains must hang for their crimes, their crimes,
And debtors a gauntlope of bailiffs must run;
When rulers will govern, and we must obey,
And law down our gullets is cramm'd every day--
Rap, Rap, 'tis a dun!
The sheriff's behind him
We'll gag him, and bind him, Huzza!
When the rum is all out, and the cyder runs low,
And the taverns won't sell for ditto, ditto,
And a man for his victuals must work like a dog;
Paper-Money, and cheating by law, have both fled,
To Rhode Island to hive in their G---------'s head.
Come, come, tother mug!
Here's a health to our master;
Talk less and drink faster, Huzza!
Then haste to our chiefs, such as never were seen,
With † hats, and with noddles, so green, so green,
There's the Hind || that's let loose of true Naphtali breed
There are Shayes and Dayes and such pretty things,
And Grovers and Wheelers and Jewels and Kings,
Yet dismal to read!
Our poor brother Shattuck,
Was fell'd with a mattock, Heigh Ho!
We've would-be assembly-men, Captains and Squires,
And the train that Sir Richard inspires, inspires,
With the spirit of Ely, our Genius and guide,
No Longer in prison our Gentlemen lurk,
Nor run from the Sheriff, nor live by hard work;
Gaily we'll ride,
O'er Lawyers and Judges,
And all the Court drudges, Huzza!
Then Senates and Courts to our friend Beelzebub,
We'll drive with the musket and club, and club,
And in apron and jerkin our governour dress;
To set in the saddle we've men that know how,
And make all your ruffled shirts foot it and bow;
The World shall confess
We've spirits in hogsheads,
And cunning in fox-heads, Huzza!
Thus no longer with stocks, and with pillories vex'd
Nor with work, jail or sheriff perplex'd, perplex'd,
The mobmen shall rule, and the great men obey,
The world upon wheels shall be all set agog
And blockheads and knaves hail the reign of king log
Under his sway,
Shall Tag, Rag, and Bobtail,
Lead up our decorum, Huzza.
† A green bough is the badge of the Mob.
|| Hind of Greenwich, famous for giving goodly words.
The WORCESTER MAGAZINE, Isaiah Thomas, printer, First Week of March, 1787, No. XLIX, vol. II, p. 607, #L04.047
Memorial Libraries, Deerfield, MA
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