See how well dressed—see how orderly they conduct themselves.

    Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you retreating?

    Is this hour with the living too dead for you?

    Retreat then! Pell-mell!

    To your graves! Back! back to the hills, old limpers!

    I do not think you belong here, anyhow.

    But there is one thing that belongs here—shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?

    I will whisper it to the Mayor—he shall send a committee to England;

    They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the royal vault—haste!

    Dig out King George's coffin, unwrap him quick from the grave-clothes, box up his bones for a journey;

    Find a swift Yankee clipper—here is freight for you, black-bellied clipper,

    Up with your anchor! shake out your sails! steer straight toward Boston bay.

    Now call for the President's marshal again, bring put the government cannon,

    Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession, guard it with foot and dragoons.

    This centre-piece for them:

    Look! all orderly citizens—look from the windows, women!

    The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that will not stay,

    Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull.

    You have got your revenge, old buster! The crown is come to its own, and more than its own.

    Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan—you are a made man from this day;

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