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1752–1832

CONGRESS HALL, N. Y.

Philip Morin Freneau

With eager step and wrinkled brow, The busy sons of care ( Disgusted with less splendid scenes ) To Congress Hall repair.

In order placed, they patient wait To seize each word that flies, From what they hear, they sigh or smile, Look cheerful, grave, or wise.

Within these walls the doctrines taught Are of such vast concern, That all the world, with one consent, Here strives to live — and learn.

The timorous heart, that cautious shuns All churches, but its own, No more observes its wonted rules; But ventures here, alone.

Four hours a day each rank alike, ( They that can walk or crawl ) Leave children, business, shop, and wife, And steer for Congress Hall.

From morning tasks of mending soals The cobler hastes away; At three returns, and tells to Kate The business of the day.

The debtor, vext with early duns, Avoids his hated home; And here and there dejected roves ‘ Till hours of Congress come.

The barber, at the well-known time, Forsakes his bearded man, And leaves him with his lathered jaws, To trim them as he can.

The tailor, plagued with suits on suits, Neglects Sir Fopling's call, Throws by his goose — slips from his board, And trots to Congress Hall.

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CONGRESS HALL, N. Y. · Philip Morin Freneau · Poetry Cove