| Citation |
PP-P.780.113
14 Nov 1780:11, 12
[Letter to Tabitha, intercepted when the American army lay
near New Bridge]
New-York, September 12, 1780.
How little I dreamt, when I wrote last, my sister,
The rebels were still on our backs like a blister.
The th' moved to Fort-Lee, I was happy too soon,
And thought myself as snug as the man in the moon.
[108 lines, including :]
. . . What sorrowful tunes do they set for our eyes,
When they sing of themselves, what fithian and lies:
. . . This morning, quoth Bet, as she lac'd on my stays
It enters my head we shall have no more plays;
And as for the balls dance at them who may,
I trust there will none of them fall in our way.
|