“While with the loss of blood and spirits some faint, “Others are seen to rise, triumphant, “O'er slaughter'd thousands sent to Pluto's shores, “Where Stygian water in dull torrent roars —
“What hosts, what myriads fell, “By lancet and by calomell, “All gone, in Philadelphia's epidemic, “And sent the substance of mankind to mimic.”
So said that Man divine Bold Peter Porcupine, Who through these climes his vast subscription spread, And rais'd four thousand ghosts; and struck with dread,
All Democratic knaves, Disorganizing slaves — He with bold wit, And spirit and spit,
From Nova Scotia to the woods of Maine, True federalism did maintain; And through those mighty thriving states, Distributed his dainty, blackguard bits.
Ah — Peter!— Thou, poor lousy numps Who loadest little horses’ rumps, And mak'st them trot and sweat, On sandy road
Beneath the load Of trash call'd Peter Porcupine's Gazette. What have you done to claim Columbia's love That she — like some base —
Should court a scoundrel from a foreign shore And make him tool to — some apostate Jove, Ah! now I see poor Carolina's horses, With pedlar's pack,
Pil'd high on back, Pursuing their mean, blackguard courses, Through solitary groves and woods of pine Transporting Goods, like thine,
———— Damned stuff! Of which Columbia, sure, has had — enough — There Pickens, Sumpter, Greene, for freedom fought, And Liberty her wonders wrought.
What do I hear? And have we lent thee wings To waft thy poison into Eutaw Springs? Those, clearer than Castalia's waters, found, For many a hero, dead, who might have claim'd
Life — but for brutish George, Who, having robb'd and plunder'd half the east, Came here to close his Vulture's feast. Now, Peter! take advice from Doctor Rush;
And — convert to the system you would crush; Pray, let him draw your blackguard blood; ( And calomell might, also, do some good. ) Four thousand drops exhausted from your veins
Will save the future exercise of canes: And, tell him to be speedy with his lancet, For‘ tis a truth; and many dare advance it, That howe'er in life well fed,
No Doctor bleeds a man — when dead.
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