THE REBELS (1778)



THE REBELS (1778)

(Tune: Black Joak)

Perhaps no song written during the American Revolution better illustrates the loyalist point of view.

These angry, sarcastic lyrics are some of the most emotional left behind by the loyal Americans.

Ye brave honest subjects who dare to be loyal,

And have stood the brunt of every trial,

Of hunting shirts and rifle guns;

Come listen awhile and I’ll tell you a song;

I’ll show you those Yankees are all in the wrong,

Who, with blustering look and most awkward gait,

‘Gainst their lawful sovereign dare for to prate,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns.

The arch-rebels, barefooted tatterdemalions,

In baseness exceed all other rebellions,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns:

To rend the empire, the most infamous lies,

Their mock-patriot Congress, do always devise;

Independence, like the first rebels, they claim,

But their plots will be damned in the annals of fame,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns.

Forgetting the mercies of Great Britain’s King,

Who saved their forefathers’ necks from the string,

With hunting shirts and rifle guns,

They renounce all allegiance and take up their arms,

Assemble together like hornets in swarms,

So dirty their backs, and so wretched their show,

That carrion-crow follows wherever they go,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns.

With loud peels of laughter, your sides, sirs, would crack,

To see General Convict and Colonel Shoe-Black,

With their hunting shirts and rifle-guns.

See cobblers and quacks, rebel priests and the like,

Pettifoggers and barbers, with sword and with pike,

All strutting the standard of Satan beside,

And honest names using, their black deeds to hide,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns.

This perjured banditti, now ruin this land,

And o’er its poor people claim lawless command,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns.

Their pasteboard dollars prove a common curse,

They don’t chink like silver and gold in our purse,

With nothing their leaders have paid their debts off,

Their honor’s, dishonour, and justice they scoff,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns.

For one lawful ruler, many tyrants we’ve got,

Who force young and old to their wars, to be shot,

With their hunting shirts and rifle guns.

Our good King, God speed him! never used men so,

We then could speak, act, and like freemen could go,

But committees enslave us, our liberty’s gone,

Our trade and church murdered; our country’s undone,

By hunting shirts and rifle guns.

Come take up your glasses, each true loyal heart,

Ane may every rebel meet his due desert,

With his hunting shirt and rifle gun.

May Congress, Conventions, those damned inquisitions,

Be fed with hot sulphur from Lucifer’s kitchens,

May commerce and peace again be restored,

And Americans own their true sovereign lord.

Then oblivion to shirts and rifle guns.

GOD SAVE THE KING!

(Originally published in the Pennyslvania Ledger, 1778)

Lyrics: Captain Smyth, Simcoe’s Queens Rangers

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TRADESMENS' SONG

for his Majesty's Birthday, 1777

Tune: When Britain first at Heaven's Command

The British army had just began their nine-month occupation of Philadelphia

when this loyalist ditty appeared in the Pennslyvania Ledger.

Again, my social Friends, we meet

To celebrate our annual display

This great, this glorious Natal Day:

'Tis George's Natal Day we sing,

Our firm, our steady Friend and King.

For Britain's Parliament and Laws

He waves his own Imperial Power,

For this (Old England's glorious Cause)

May Heaven on him its blessings shower,

And Colonies, made happy, sing,

Great George their real friend and King.

Since Britain first at Heaven's command

Arose from out the Azure Main,

Did ever o'er this jarring Land

A Monarch with more firmness reign?

Then to the Natal Day we'll sing,

Of George our sacred Friend and King.

To Charlotte fair, our matchless Queen,

To all his blooming heavenly Line,

To all their Family and Friends,

Let us in hearty chorus join,

And George's Natal Day let's sing,

Our gracious Father, Friend, and King.

And may the heavenly Powers combine,

While we with loyal hearts implore

That one of his most sacred Line

May rule these Realms till time's no more.

And we with chearful voices sing

Great George our steady, natal King.

--Pennslyvania Ledger, October 22, 1777

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THE AMERICAN TIMES

by Jonathan Odell (1780)

Jonathan Odell was one of the best educated men in the colonies at the time of the Revolution.

A physician turned Anglican minister turned writer, he was appointed chaplain of the First Battalion of Pennsylvania Loyalists,

maintained close ties with the British high command, and was deeply involved in the treason of Benedict Arnold.

Odell wrote many verses for the "Royal Gazzette" in the British stronghold of New York City. "The American Times" is one of his best known.

It illustrates very well the anger loyalists felt toward their former neighbors as well as frustration with the British war effort.

Here are a few excerpts.

When Faction, pois'nous as the scorpion's sting,

Infects the people and insults the King;

When foul Sedition skulks no more concealed,

But grasps the sword and rushes to the field;

When Justice, Law, and Truth are in disgrace,

And Treason, Fraud, and Murder fill their place;

Smarting beneath accumulated woes,

Shall we not dare the tyrants to expose?

Bad are the Times, almost too bad to paint;

The whole head sickens, the whole heart is faint;

The State is rotten, rotten to the core,

'Tis all one bruize, one putrefying sore.

Hear thy indictment, Washington, at large;

Attend and listen to the solemn charge;

Thou hast supported an atrocious cause

Against thy King, thy Country, and the laws;

Committed perjury, encourag'd lies,

Forced conscience, broken the most sacred ties;

Myriads of wives and fathers at thy hand

Their slaughter'd husbands, slaughter'd sons demand;

That pastures hear no more the lowing kine,--

That towns are desolate, all -- all is thine.

I swear by Him, who rules the earth and sky,

The dread event shall equally apply;

That Clinton's warfare is the war of God,

And Washington shall feel the vengeful rod.

O! may that hour be soon! for pity's sake,

Genius of Britain, from thy slumber wake,

Too long has mercy spoke, but spoke in vain;

Let justice now in awful terror reign.

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A SONG (1779)

These verses were published in Rivington's "Royal Gazette" (New York) in March of 1779 as

"A Song, written by a refugee on reading the King's speech and sung at the Refugee Club in the

city of New York to the tune "Heart(s) of Oak". Midi

Here's a bumper, brave boys, to the health of our king,

Long may he live, and long may we sing,

In praise of a monarch who boldly defends

The laws of the realm, and the cause of his friends.

Then cheer up, my lads, we have nothing to fear,

While we remain steady,

And always keep ready,

To add to the trophies of this happy year.

The Congress did boast of their mighty ally,

But George does both France and the Congress defy;

And when Britons unite, there's no force can withstand

Their fleets and their armies, by sea and on land.

Thus supported, our cause we will ever maintain,

And all treaties with rebels will ever disdain;

Till reduc'd by our arms, they are forc'd to confess,

While ruled by Great Britain they ne'er knew distress.

Then let us, my boys, Britain's right e'er defend,

Who regards not her rights, we esteem not our friend;

Then, brave boys, we both France and the Congress defy,

And we'll fight for Great Britain and George till we die.

Then cheer up, my lads, we have nothing to fear,

While we remain steady,

And always keep ready,

To add to the trophies of this happy year.

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THE CONGRESS (1776)

tune: Nancy Dawson Midi

Ye Tories all rejoice and sing

Success to George our gracious King,

The faithful subjects tribute bring

And execrate the Congress.

These hardy knaves and stupid fools,

Some apish and pragmatic mules,

Some servile acquiescing tools,

These, these compose the Congress.

Then Jove resolved to send a curse,

And all the woes of life rehearse

Not plague, not famine, but much worse

He cursed us with a Congress.

Then peace forsook this hopeless shore

Then cannons blazed with horrid roar

We hear of blood, death, wounds and gore,

The offspring of the Congress.

With poverty and dire distress

With standing armies us oppress,

Whole troops to Pluto swiftly press;

As victims of the Congress.

Time-serving priests to zealots preach,

Who King and Parliament impeach;

Seditious lessons to us teach

At the command of Congress.

Prepare, prepare, my friends prepare

For scenes of blood, the field of war;

To royal standard we'll repair,

And curse the haughty Congress.

Huzza! Huzza! and thrice Huzza!

Return peace, harmony and law!

Restore such times as once we saw

And bid adieu to Congress.

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Although this isn't a song but rather a poem based on Hamlet's "To be or not to be" speech,

it depicts the very difficult position of the loyalist when pressured by fellow colonists to

sign an oath of fidelity to the Continental Congress. As it shows, some became very reluctant "rebels."

THE PAUSING AMERICAN LOYALIST

To sign, or not to sign? That is the question,

Whether 'twere better for an honest man

To sign, and so be safe; or to resolve,

Betide what will, against associations,

And, by retreating, shun them. To fly-- I reck

Not where: And, by that flight, t' escape

Feathers and tar, and thousand other ills

That loyalty is heir to: 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To fly-- to want--

To want? Perchance to starve: Ay, there's the rub!

For, in that chance of want, what ills may come

To patriot rage, when I have left my all--

Must give me pause: --There's the respect

That makes us trim, and bow to men we hate.

For, who would bear th' indignities o' th' times,

Congress decrees, and wild convention plans,

The laws controll'd, and inj'ries unredressed,

The insolence of knaves, and thousand wrongs

Which patient liege men from vile rebels take,

When he, sans doubt, might certain safety find,

Only by flying? Who would bend to fools,

And truckle thus to mad, mob-chosen upstarts,

But that the dread of something after flight

(In that blest country, where, yet, no moneyless

Poor wight can live) puzzles the will,

And makes ten thousands rather sign-- and eat.

Than fly -- to starve on loyalty.--

Thus, dread of want makes rebels of us all:

And thus the native hue of loyalty

Is sicklied o'er with a pale cast of trimming;

And enterprises of great pith and virtue,

But unsupported, turn their streams away,

And never come to action.

Middlesex Journal, January 30, 1776.

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ANACREONTIC SONG

(Ralph Tomlinson)

(A British drinking song, later the melody to the upstart colonists’ “Star Spangled Banner”)

To Anacreon, in Heav’n, where he sat in full glee,

A few sons of harmony sent a petition,

That he their inspirer and patron would be;

When this answer arrived from the jolly old Grecian --

Voice, fiddle and flute,

No longer be mute.

I’ll lend ye my name, and inspire ye to boot.

And, besides, I’ll instruct ye, like me, to entwine,

The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

The news through Olympus immediately flew;

Where Old Thunder pretended to give himself airs --

If these mortals are suffer’d their scheme to pursue,

There’s devil a goddess will stay above stairs.

Hark! Already they cry,

In transports of joy.

A fig for Parnassus! To Rowley’s we’ll fly;

And there, my good fellows, we’ll learn to entwine,

The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

The yellow-hair’d god, and his nine fusty maids,

To the hill of old Lud will incontinent flee.

Idalia will boast but of tenantless shades,

And the biforked hill of a mere desert will be.

My thunder, no fear on’t,

Will soon do its errand,

And dam me, I’ll swinge the ringleaders, I warrant.

I’ll trim the young dogs, for thus daring to twine,

The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

Apollo rose up; and said, Pr’ythee ne’er quarrel,

Good king of the gods, with my vot’ries below!

Your thunder is useless -- then, shewing his laurel,

Cry’d, Sic evitabile fulmen, you know!

Then over each head

My laurels I’ll spread;

So my sons from your crackers no mischief shall dread,

Whilst snug in their club-room, they jovially twine,

The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

Next Momus got up, with his risible phiz;

And swore with Apollo he’d cheerfully join --

The full tide of harmony still shall be his,

But the song, and the catch, and the laugh shall be mine;

Then, Jove, be not jealous

Of these honest fellows.

Cry’d Jove, We relent, since the truth you now tell us;

And swear, by Old Styx, that they long shall entwine,

The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

Ye sons of Anacreon, then, join hand in hand;

Preserve unanimity, friendship and love.

‘Tis your’s to support what’s so happily plan’d;

You’ve the sanction of gods, and the fiat of Jove.

While thus we agree,

Our toast let it be.

May our club flourish happy, united and free!

And long may the sons of Anacreon entwine,

The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

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MASONIC SONG

Extract of a Masonic song sung to the tune "God Save the King."

A performance of this song in New York City was reported in "Gaine’s Mercury," July 2, 1781.

By sacred influence hurl’d,

From chaos rose the world,

Great will of Jove.

Grand architect supreme,

Fountains of wisdom stream,

Receive our humble theme,

Duty and love.

‘Tis by the will of heaven

Kings to command are given,

George we proclaim.

Chant in full song his praise,

May such deeds crown his days,

As will through ages raise,

A deathless name.

Jehovah we implore

Peace to his realms restore,

Grant that his reign

Tyranny may destroy,

While we with rapture cry,

The King shall then enjoy

His own again.

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GENERAL HOWE’S LETTER

July 1777

Tune: Derry Down Midi

As to kidnap the Congress has long been my aim,

I lately resolved to accomplish the same;

And that none in the glory might want his due share,

All the troops were to Brunswick desired to repair,

Derry down, down, down Derry down.

There I met them in person and took the command,

When I instantly told them the job upon hand;

I did not detain them with long-winded stuff,

But made a short speech and each soldier looked bluff.

With this omen elated, towards Quibbletown,

I led them concluding the day was our own;

For, till we went thither, the coast was quite clear,

But Putnam and Washington, damn them, were there!

I own I was staggered to see with what skill,

The rogues were intrenched on the brow of the hill;

With a view to dismay them, I showed my whole force,

But they kept their position, and cared not a curse.

There were then but two ways-- to retreat or attack,

And to me it seemed wisest by far to go back;

For I thought if I rashly got into a fray,

There might both be the Devil and Piper to pay.

Then, to lose no more time by parading in vain,

I determined elsewhere to transfer the campaign;

So just as we went, we returned to this place,

With no other difference -- than mending our pace.

Where next we proceed is not yet very clear,

But when we get there, be assured you shall hear;

I’ll settle that point when I meet with my brother,

Meanwhile, we’re embarking for some place or other.

Having briefly, my lord, told you how the land lies,

I hope there’s enough for a word to the wise;

‘Tis a good horse, they say, that never will stumble,

But fighting or flying, I’m your very humble.

Derry down, &c.

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And last but not least... the classic original English song.

Don't be confused by American imitations!

Stand up, sing it at the top of your lungs and annoy the rebels to no end.

GOD SAVE THE KING

God save great George our King,

Long live our noble King,

God Save the King!

Send him victorious,

Happy and glorius,

Long to reign over us,

God Save the King.

O Lord, our God, arise,

Scatter his enemies,

And make them fall,

Confound their politics,

Frustrate their knavish tricks!

On him our hearts are fix't,

O save us all.

O grant him long to see

Friendship and unity,

Always increase:

May he his septre sway,

All loyal souls obey,

Join heart and voice, huzzah!

God save the King!

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