Wee anchored safe in Fathoms four
Within a Baye, and did espie
A pleasaunt, many-peopled Shore
With Lodges most amazing hie,

From where some Natives, partlie tamed,
Did come in Shallops nine or ten
To make us Speeches—these were named
“Ye Sons-in-Lawe of Famous Men.”

Ashore wee went, and soon a Band
Appeared, bedecked with Silver Starres,
Which called themselves, I understand,
“Ye Sons of Them Which Fitt in Warres.”

Another Tribe did entertaine
Our Tars at Meat within an Halle,
And they were hight, “Ye Noble Straine
Of Them Which Came Here First of Alle!”

Their Womankind in Bevies Twain
Did make us Cheere with Daunce and Song,
But eyther Group in hie Disdain
Did scorn ye other Lovelie Throng;

Yea, each called other, “Sycophants”
And “Upstarte Crewe!”—Their Rightful Names
Were “Nieces of Ancestral Aunts,”
And “Daughters of Maternal Dames.”

Ye “Sons of Irish Pioneers,”
Ye “Native Sons of Foreign Kynges,”
Ye “Sons of Hessian Grenadiers,”
And Sundrie Sons of Other Thynges

About us raised a Goodlie Stir.
A Modest Folk they seemed to mee,
More Vaine of what their Fathers were
Than Proud of what theirselves might bee.

Yet more were there too Low to wear
Grand Coats-of-Arms or courtlie Masks—
An Hoste which found no Time to spare
But stronglie toiled at many Tasks.

I craved of One of Sturdie Mold,
“What ‘Sons’ bee ye?” With Merrie Face,
“No ‘Sons’!” he cried; “in us behold
Ye Fathers of ye Coming Race!”