Political Ballads Written In The Year 1777
by
Date Obolum Bellesario
[Written after the defeat of Burgoyne in Octboer, 1777]
As I travell’d o’er the plain,
About the close of day,
I chanc’d to wander in a lane,
A lane of mire and clay.
‘Twas there a dirty drab I saw,
All seated on the ground,
With oaken staff and hat of straw,
And tatters hanging round.
At my approach she heav’d a sigh,
And due obeisance paid,
First wip’d a tear from either eye,
Then her petition made.
“A wretch forlorn, kind sir, you see,
That begs from door to door;
Oh! stop and give for charity,
A penny to the poor!
Tho’ now in tatters I appear,
Yet know the time hath been,
When I partook the world’s good cheer,
And better days have seen.”
Proceed, said I, whilst I attend
The story of thy woe;
Proceed, and charity shall lend
Some help before I go.
“If blooming honours men delight,
“If charms in wealth they see,
“My fame once soar’d a glorious height,
“And who more rich than me.
“Of sons and daughters I can boast
“A long illustrious line,
“Of servants could command a host,
“For large domains were mine.
“But George my youngest faithless boy,
“Hath all my powers o’erthrown;
“And in the very beds of joy
“The seeds of sorrow sown.
“He thirsting for supreme command,
“Contemn’d my wife decrees,
“And with a sacrilegious hand,
“My dearest rights did seize.
“A magic wand I once possest,
“A cap aloft it bore;
“Of all my treasures this the best,
And none I valued more.
“Ruthless he broke the sacred rod,
“The cap he tumbled down;
“Destroying thus, what with their blood
“His ancestors had won.
“An orphan child fell to my care,
“Fair as the morn was she,
“To large possessions she was heir,
“And friendly still to me.
“But George, my son, beheld the maid,
“With fierce lascivious eye;
“To ravish her a plan he laid,
“And she was forc’d to fly.
“She’s young and will no more depend
“On cruel George or me;
“No longer now my boasted friend,
“Nor of my family.
“Bad measures often end in worse,
“His fell intent to gain;
“He sent in rage a mighty force,
“To bring her back again.
“But to defend the injur’d maid,
“Her faithful houshold came;
“In battle strong they stood array’d,
“And gain’d immortal fame.
“’Mongst these a godlike hero rose
“Wise, generous and brave,
“He check’d the frenzy of her foes,
“His arm was strong to save.
“So near perfection, that he stood
“Upon the bound’ry line,
“Of infinite from finite good,
“Of human from divine.
“Defeated thus in all his schemes,
“My foolish, wick’d son,
“Awak’d from his delusive dreams,
“And found himself undone.
“Mean time I suffer’d, in disgrace,
No comfort could I find,
“I saw distress come on a pace,
“With ruin close behind.
“At length distracted quite with grief,
“I left my native home,
“Depending now on chance relief,
“Abroad for bread I roam.
“A shield and lance once grac’d these hands,
“Perhaps you’ve heard my fame,
“For I was known in distant in lands,
“ Britannia is my name.
“Britannia now in rags you see;
“I beg from door to door–
“Oh! give, kind sire for charity,
“A penny to the poor.