hear the song out, and then join in the frolic, and chorus it
o'er and o'er again--This day shall be devoted to joy and festivity.

SONG.

[TUNE. _The hounds are all out, &c._]

1.

Of _St. George_, or _St. Bute_, let the poet Laureat sing,
Of _Pharaoh_ or _Pluto_ of old,
While he rhymes forth their praise, in false, flattering lays,
I'll sing of St. Tamm'ny the bold, my brave boys.

2.

Let Hibernia's sons boast, make Patrick their toast;
And Scots Andrew's fame spread abroad.
Potatoes and oats, and Welch leeks for Welch goats,
Was never St. Tammany's food, my brave boys.

3.

In freedom's bright cause, Tamm'ny pled with applause,
And reason'd most justly from nature;
For this, this was his song, all, all the day long:
Liberty's the right of each creature, brave boys.

4.

Whilst under an oak his great parliament sat,
His throne was the crotch of the tree;
With Solomon's look, without statutes or book,
He wisely sent forth his decree, my brave boys.

5.

His subjects stood round, not the least noise or sound,
Whilst freedom blaz'd full in each face:
So plain were the laws, and each pleaded his cause;
That might _Bute_, _North_ and _Mansfield_ disgrace, my brave boys.

6.

No duties, nor stamps, their blest liberty cramps,
A king, tho' no _tyrant_, was he;
He did oft'times declare, nay, sometimes wou'd swear,
The least of his subjects were free, my brave boys.

7.

He, as king of the woods, of the rivers and floods,
Had a right all beasts to controul;
Yet, content with a few, to give nature her due:
So gen'rous was Tammany's soul! my brave boys.

8.

In the morn he arose, and a-hunting he goes,
Bold Nimrod his second was he.
For his breakfast he'd take a large venison steak,
And despis'd your slip-slops and tea, my brave boys.

9.

While all in a row, with squaw, dog and bow,
Vermilion adorning his face,
With feathery head he rang'd the woods wide:
_St. George_ sure had never such grace, my brave boys?

10.

His jetty black hair, such as Buckskin saints wear,
Perfumed with bear's grease well smear'd,
Which illum'd the saint's face, and ran down apace,
Like the oil from Aaron's old beard, my brave boys.

11.

The strong nervous deer, with amazing career,