They lik’d the month thee call November.
Tumults and quarrels, Friends abhor ’em,
Others may fight their battles for ‘em,
While they can sit at home in ease,
And eat plum-pudding as they please.
Their conduct was so very winning,
They gain’d a liberty of sinning;
Plain scripture then they might deny,
And not be ask’d a reason why.
Yet these good creatures, now and then,
Were hardly us’d by cruel men:
And underwent hard blows and knocks,
The cart, the pillory and stocks;
Yet no one of them then turn’d buffer,
But thought it honour great, to suffer.
At length a pious chosen band
Came here, and left their native land;
Here while they live, they with applause,
Both frame, and execute the laws.
With Indians they had coalition,
Happy, thrice happy their condition;
While heaven did their endeavours bless,
Who fertile made a wilderness.
But now alas! with pain and grief,
(’Tis what we think past all relief)
We have observ’d our pow’r is lost,
And others want to rule the roast.
Intestine feuds and wars take place
Of concord, unity and peace:
And thus we see, what’s very strange,
All things, but, our old tenets change,
We have for ever careful been,
Not to be often caught in sin,
And still kept up in our society,
A great appearance of true piety: