About the author
Frank Moore was a journalist and Revolutionary historian. He published a number of books on the American Revolution during his career in the mid-19th century, including Songs and Ballads of the American Revolution, Diary of the American Revolution and The Patriot Preachers of the American Revolution.
The author of these sprightly verses is not known. In the “New Hampshire Gazette” they appear, with the following note to the printer: “By inserting this in your next paper, you will oblige one of your country subscribers.” We do not know of their being printed elsewhere.
The Present Age
OF all the ages ever known,
The present is the oddest;
For all the men are honest grown,
And all the women modest.
Nor lawyers now are fond of fees,
Nor clergy of their dues;
No idle people now one sees,
At church no empty pews.
No courtiers now their friends deceive
With promises of favor;
For what they made ’em once believe,
Is done and done for ever.
Our nobles – Heaven defend us all !
I’ll nothing say about ’em;
For they are great and I’m but small,
So muse, jog on without ’em.
Our gentry are a virtuous race,
Despising earthly treasures;
Fond of true honor’s noble chase,
And quite averse to pleasures.
The ladies dress so plain indeed,
You’d think ’em Quakers all,
Witness the wool packs on their heads,
So comely and so small.
No tradesman now forsakes his shop,
For politics or news;
Or takes his dealer at a hop,
Through interested views.
No soaking sot forsakes his spouse,
For mugs of mantling nappy;
Nor taverns tempt him from his house,
Where all are pleas’d and happy.
Our frugal taste the State secures,
Whence then can woes begin?
For luxury’s turn’d out of doors,
And prudence taken in.
From hence proceeds th’ abundant flow,
Of plenty through the land;
Where all provisions all men know,
Are cheap on ev’ry hand.
No pleasure – chaises fill the streets,
Nor crowd the roads on Sunday;
So horses ambling thro’ the week,
Obtain a respite one day.
All gaming, tricking, swearing, lying,
Is grown quite out of fashion;
For modern youth’s so self-denying,
It flies all lawless passion.
Happy the nation thus endow’d !
So void of wants and crimes;
Where all are rich and none are proud,
Oh ! these are glorious times.
Your characters (with wondering stare
Cries Tom) are mighty high, sir;
But pray forgive me, if I swear,
I think they’re all a lie, sir.
Ha ! think you so, my honest clown ?
Then take another light on’t;
Just turn the picture upside down,
I fear you’ll see the right on’t.
