Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.

Brother Jonathan’s Epistle to Johnny Bull—1814

O, JOHNNY BULL, my joe, John, I wonder what you mean?

Are you on foreign conquest bent, or what ambitious scheme?

Ah! list to brother Jonathan, your fruitless plans forego;

Remain on your fast-anchor’d isle, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, don’t come across the main;

Our fathers bled and suffer’d, John, our freedom to maintain;

And him who in the cradle, John, repell’d the ruthless foe,

Provoke not, when to manhood grown, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, you’ve proud and haughty grown;

The ocean is a highway, which you falsely call your own:

And Columbia’s sons are valiant, John, nor fear to face the foe,

And never yield to equal force, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, your Peacocks keep at home,

And ne’er let British seamen in a Frolic hither come,

For we’ve Hornets, and we’ve Wasps, John, who, as you doubtless know,

Carry stingers in their tails, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

When I name our naval heroes, John, O! hear old England’s groans:

There’s Bainbridge, Porter, Blakely, Decatur, Hull, and Jones;

And while for gallant Lawrence our grateful tears shall flow,

We never will give up the ship, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, on Erie’s distant shore

See how the battle rages, and loud the cannons roar;

But Perry taught our seamen to crush the assailing foe—

He met, and made them ours, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, behold on Lake Champlain,

With more than equal force, John, you tried your fist again:

But the cock saw how ’t was going, and cried “cock-a-doodle-doo,”

And Macdonough was victorious, O Johnny Bull, my joe!

Your soldiers on the land, John, on that eventful day,

Mark’d the issue of the conflict, and then they ran away:

And Macomb would have Burgoyn’d, John, your Governor Prevost;

But, ah! he was too nimble, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, in night attacks and day,

We drove you from Fort Erie—flogg’d you at Chippeway:

There’s Porter, Brown and Ripley, Scott and Gaines to face the foe,

And they use the bayonet freely, O, Johnny Bull, my joe.

What though at Washington, a base marauding band

Our monuments of art, John, destroy’d with ruthless hand:

O, it was a savage warfare, John, beneath a generous foe,

And brings the most disgrace on you, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, don’t send your Cochrane o’er,

Few places are assailable, on this our native shore:

And we’ll leave our homes and friends, John, and crush the reptile foe

That dares pollute our native soil, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, when all your schemes had fail’d,

To wipe away the stigma, John, for New Orleans you sail’d:

But heavier woes await thee, John, for Jackson meets the foe,

Who’s name and fame’s immortal, O Johnny Bull, my joe!

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, your Packenham’s no more:

The blood of your invincibles crimsons our native shore:

No Hampton scenes are here, John, to greet a savage foe,

Nor booty—no, nor beauty, O Johnny Bull, my joe.

O, Johnny Bull, my joe, John, your heroes keep at home;

In high spirits they come hither, but they’re carried back in rum.

You say your sons are valiant, John: I grant they may be so:

But more valiant are our Yankee boys, O, Johnny Bull, my joe.

Your schemes to gather laurels here, I guess were badly plann’d:

We have whipp’d you on the ocean, John, we’ve thresh’d you on the land:

Then hie thee to old England, John, your fruitless plans forego,

And stick to thy fast-anchor’d isle, O, Johnny Bull, my joe.