Henry Livingston, Jr.
Henry Livingston's Poetry

A New Year's address of Richard and George
two boys of the printer N. Power

Before the friends of Mr. Power
In this good-natur'd happy hour
Respectfully we both appear
And wish you all a Happy Year.

You see in us a brace of chickens
Who, as the plot of nations thickens,
Deal at your doors each Wednesday morn
The sun-shine of the week - or storm.

When earth quakes make old chimnies rattle
Or gossips in a corner tattle
Or twenty pumpkins in a row
Enormous on one tendril grow.

When flush'd with wine (the modern nectar)
Two Beaus as bluff & bold as Hector
Like lions meet and nobly dare
To flash their pistols in the air.

When sons of Neptune stoutly try
Who shall affirm the toughest lye
And swear they saw a fish, complete
From stem to stern, twelve thousand feet.

When three grim (lygers) make their dinners
Upon at least a dozen sinners
When Cupid's arrows don't miscarry
And lovers meet - & meeting marry:

When these events and thousands more
Are acted - or not acted o'er
The Country Journal ever ready
To seize its prey, all keen and steady
Pursues the tidings as they rise,

And plunders all as lawful prize:

While we, the mercuries of the day,
Deliver at your feet the prey.

Tho suns shine clear, or tempests growl,
Mild zephyrs fan or whirlwinds howl;
Tho cold snows fly, or hailstones rattle
And ev'ry element's in battle:

Thro thick and thin and thin and thick
Go flound'ring on poor George and Dick!
Nor care a button for disasters
So you're contented gentle masters.

And now the end of all this clatter
Is but a small and trifling matter;
A puny six pence or a shilling
From willing souls to souls as willing.

And here to you our gen'rous donors
We pledge our sacred words of honours
No valrous rooster by our deed
Shall on the field of battle bleed.

Nor by our too-well-aimed ball
The hapless, flutt'ring turkey fall:
No deep-charged muskets thund'ring roar
Beneath the peaceful burghers door,

Shall tell the sleeping folks within
That mighty New Year doth begin.
Like civil (chubs) we will retire
And by a snug and social fire

With cakes of season on the board
Collected from each housewife's hoard
We'll push the glass of mead about
And laugh the tedious ev'ning out.

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