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Music & Poetry
Cow Chace, Canto III

[by John Andre´, Adjutant General of the British Army in America]

Canto III

Not all delights the bloody spear,
   Or horrid din of battle,
There are, I'm sure, who'd like to hear
   A word about the cattle.
The Chief whom we behold of late,
   Near Schral[en]berg haranguing,
At Yan Van Poops unconscious sat
   Of Irving's heart banging.
Whilst valiant Lee, with courage wild,
   Most bravely did oppose
The tears of woman and of child,
   Who begg'd he'd leave the cows.
But Wayne, of sympathising heart,
   Required a relief
Not all the blessings could impart
   Of battle or of beef;
For now a prey to female charms,
   His soul took more delight in
A lovely Hamadryad's arms,*            *A Diety of the Woods.
   Than cow driving or fighting;
A nymph, the Refugees had drove
   Far from her native tree,
Just happen'd to be on the move,
   When up came Wayne and Lee.
She in mad Anthony's fierce eye
   The hero saw pourtray'd,
And all in tears she took him by
   ---The bridle of his Jade.
Hear, said the nymph, O great Commander!
   No human laments ions;
The trees you see them cutting yonder
   Are all my near relation's,
And I, forlorn! implore thine aid,
   To free the sacred grove;
So shall thy prowess be repaid
   With an immortal's love.
Now some, to prove she was a Goddess,
   Said this enchanting Fair
Had late retired from the Bodies.**            **A cant
   In all the pomp of war;                               appellation given
                                                                       amongst the
                                                                       soldiery to the
                                                                       corps that has the
                                                                       honour to guard his
                                                                       Majesty's person.
That drums and merry fifes had play'd
   To honour her retreat,
And Cunningham himself convey'd
   The Lady thro' the street.
Great Wayne, by soft compassion sway'd,
   To no enquiry stoops,
But takes the fair afflicted maid
   Right into Yan Van Poop's.
So Roman Anthony, they say,
   Disgrac'd th' imperial banner,
And for a gypsy lost a day,
   Like Anthony the Tanner.
The Hamadryad had but half
   Receiv'd redress from Wayne,
When drums and colours, cow and calf,
   Came down the road amain.
All in a cloud of dust were seen
   The sheep, the horse, the goat,
The gentle heifer, ass obscene,
   The yearling and the shoat,
And pack-horses with fowls came by,
   Befeather'd on each side,
Like Pegasus, the horse that I
   And other poets ride.
Sublime upon his stirrups rose
   The mighty Lee behind,
And drove the terror-smitten cows,
   Like chaff before the wind.
But sudden see the woods above
   Pour down another corps,
All helter skelter in a drove,
   Like that I sung before.
Irving and terror in the van,
   Came flying [--------] abroad,
And cannon, colours, horse and man
   Ran tumbling to the road.
Still as he fled, 'twas Irving's cry,
   And his example too,
"Run on, my merry men all--For why?"
   The shot will not go thro'.*                        *Five Refugees
                                                                       ('tis true) were
                                                                       Stiff on the
                                                                       block house floor,
                                                                       But then 'tis
                                                                       thought the shot
                                                                       went round,
                                                                       And in at
                                                                       the back door.

As when two kennels in the street
   Swell'd with a recent rain,
In gushing streams together meet,
   And seek the neighbouring drain,
So met these dung-born tribes in one,
   As swift in their career,
And so to Newbridge they ran on,--
   But all the cows got clear.
Poor parson Caldwell, all in wonder
   Saw the returning train,
And mourn'd to Wayne the lack of plunder,
   For them to steal again.
For 'twas his right to seize the spoil and
   To share with each commander
As he had done at Staten Island
   With frost-bit Alexander.
In his dismay the frantic priest
   Began to grow prophetic.
You had swore, to see his lab'ring breast,
   He'd taken an emetic.
I view a future day, said he,
   Brighter than this day dark is,
And you shall see what you shall see,
   Ha! Ha! one pretty Marquis;
And he shall come to Paulus-Hook,
   And great achievements think on,
and make a bow and take a look,
   Like Satan over Lincoln.
And all the land around shall glory
   To see the Frenchman caper,
And pretty Susan tell the story
   In the next Chatham paper.
This solemn prophecy, of course,
   Gave all much consolation,
Except to Wayne who lost his horse
   Upon the great occasion.
His horse that carried all his prog
   His military speeches,
His corn-stalk whisky for his grog,
   Blue stockings, and brown breeches.
And now, I've clos'd my epic strain,
   I tremble as I shew it,
Lest this same warrio-drover Wayne,
   Should ever catch the poet.


Click here for ---> Cow Chace, Part 1

                               Cow Chace, Part 2

The Royal Gazette, (New York), September 23rd, 1780.

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