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A Letter from Batista Angeloni - 8

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Let Orphan’s Tears, and Widow’s Cries,
Implore in vain your Ears and Eyes;
Pass ruthless by, enjoy their Groans,
And force ’em to make Bread of Stones.
  What! wou’d THEE have us then to fight
When Conscience tells us ’tis not right?
No I would not but yet God knows.
To murder us you arm our Foes.
So he that wears his Eyes may note
The But her often binds a Goat,
And leaves his man to cut his Throat.
  ’Tis Sin, your Conscience too will say,
In Tongue unknown to preach or pray;
Yet, you can hear an Indian bellow,
And praise him for a pious Fellow,
Though what he means you cannot tell;
Nor if he talks of Heaven or Hell,
Thus, what you one time disavow,
You at another will allow.
In many things change but the Name,
Quakers and Indians are the same;—
I don’t say all, for there are such
That honest are, e’en of the Dutch;
But those who th’ Indian’s Cause maintain,
Would take the Part of bloody Cain,
And sell their very Souls for Gain.

[To the Gentlemen at Pittsburg.]

  But you brave Heroes! you who dare,
Against the Infidels make War,
With righteous Vengeance them pursue,
Spare none of all the hellish Crew;
Consign them to the Shades below,
Your slaughter’d Friends demand the blow.
So may kind Heav’n your Actions bless,
And crown you ALWAYS with Success.

FINIS.

Contents of this annotation:

  1. A Letter from Batista Angeloni - 8