And let philosophers say what they please, You're not grown less by coming o'er the seas. - David Humphreys (soldier)

Yes thank your stars, Columbia's happy dames!
Ye need not fear those frightful fun'ral flames:
Of other lands let foreign bards be dreaming,
But this, this only is the land for women;—
Here ye invert the Bramins' barb'rous plan,
And stretch your sceptre o'er the tyrant—man.

His list'ning sons the sire shall oft remind,
What parent sages first in Congress join'd;
The faithful Hancock grac'd that early scene,
Great Washington appear'd in godlike mien,
Jay, Laurens, Clinton, skill'd in ruling men,
And he, who earlier, held the farmer's pen.
'Twas Lee, illustrious, at the father's head,
The daring way to independence led.
The self-taught Sherman urg'd his reasons clear,
And all the Livingstons to freedom dear;
What countless names in fair procession throng,
With Ruttledge, Johnson, Nash, demand the song!

For here, ye fair, no servile rites bear sway,
Nor force ye—(though ye promise)—to obey:
Blest in the mildness of tins temp'rate zone,
Slaves to no whims, or follies—but your own.—
Here custom, check'd in ev'ry rude excess,
Confines its influence to the arts of dress,
O'er charms eclips'd the side-long hat displays,
Extends the hoop, or pares away the stays,
Bedecks the fair with artificial gear,
Breast-works in front, and bishops in the rear:—
The idol rears, on beauty's dazzling throne,
Mankind her slaves, and all the world her own;
Bound by no laws a husband's whims to fear,
Obey in life, or burn upon his bier;
She views with equal eye, sublime o'er all,
A lover perish—or a lap-dog fall—
Coxcombs or monkeys from their chains broke loose—
And now a husband dead—and now a goose.