Song LVIII. Fly Ye Traitors

Fly ye traitors from our land, Fly ye Jacobinic band, Who join the French and aid their cause; Who join the French and aid their cause; And should the storm of war come on, No doubt you'd to their standard run. The independence which we boast, By your vile arts was nearly lost; Each true Columbian will despise The traitors who the Frenchmen prize. All their arts employ'd we see To destroy our liberty, Like a band of rascals join'd May they be to hell consign'd.

Ye Democrats who strove once more To make rude foes attack our shore, Invited o'er the impious band, Invited o'er the impious band, Encourag'd by your artful lies To wrest from us the rights we prize; While ye oppose each measure just, The French in you place all their trust, That through your influence they'll prevail, But all their wicked schemes shall fail. All their arts &c.

May public infamy and shame Forever brand the traitor's name, Who boasted he should not oppose The French, should they come here as foes: While they protect his interest dear, He turns to them a joyful ear. With matchless skill he makes his power Assist his interest every hour; For while he gains, his heart's at ease; Tho' he destroys his country's peace. All his arts, &c.

While those who league with Talleyrand, Once more to cheat our country stand; Ye Democrats on you they call, Ye Democrats on you they call, For all the Jacobinic crew Their hopes had fix'd on hell and you; But now o'erwhelm'd with dire dismay, Their schemes expos'd in open day, From vile French influence we'll be free, Nor dread destructive anarchy. Tho' all their arts employ'd should be To introduce vile anarchy, The band of rascals soon shall find Their names to infamy consign'd.