At Eastville, in Virginia,
I opened in my hand
The Records of the dawn of day—
The oldest in the land;
“Here,” thought I, “shall I find great things,—
Court revels, garter tricks,
The wigs and shoes of Stuart Kings
And much imported bricks.”

Before me sat the first clerk's heir—
Obedience Robins sire—
Who named Northamptons county there
For his, the English shire;
Here old descent and heraldry
Outlasted Jamestown's wreck,
And Berkeley hanged, in Bacon's war,
Sir Drummond by the neck.

I oped the book, wrote clear and brief;
What wonders did I see?
Only good wives a slandering,
And fines of bastardy.
“I called Dame Stout a slut—or more,
I thought she slandered mine,
I hope that God will look it o'er
When I have paid my fine.”

“This child I lay to Marmion Scott—
He knows where it began;
He ne'er complained when it was got
And is a gentleman.”
“I stand in church to take it back—
I said that Misses More
Looked no more like her little Jack
Than did the Governor;
God heard me—it was quite a smirch—
And rather out of bounds,
My fines and tithes I pay in church
In good tobacco pounds.

Ah! when there is no other news
And country has no town,
The only news is still abuse:
We call our neighbor down!
Much of ancestors must we hear,
Beware when them we call!
The witch of Endor was the seer
That seared the heart of Saul.