The Massachusetts Liberty Song
     ~or~ The Parody Parodied

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   The Parody Parodied was a response to The Parody, a farcical reply to The Liberty Song written by John Dickinson and published in the Boston Gazette in 1768.

   This reply to the parody of the patriotic Liberty Song, was printed in the St James Chronicle, published in London on 08 November, 1768. It was soon, thereafter, printed in the American papers.

Come swallow your bumpers, ye tories, and roar, That the sons of fair Freedom are hamper'd once more;
But know that no cut-throats our spirits can tame, Nor a host of oppressors shall smother the flame.
Chorus: In freedom we're born, and, like sons of the brave, We'll never surrender,
But swear to defend her, And scorn to survive, if unable to save.
Our grandsires, blest heroes! We'll give them a tear, Nor sully their honors, by stooping to fear;
Thro' deaths and thro' dangers, their trophies they won, We dare be their rivals, nor will be outdone.
Let tyrants and minions presume to despise, Encroach on our rights, and make freedom their prize:
The fruits of their rapine they never shall keep; Tho' vengeance may nod, yet how short is her sleep!
Our wives and our babes, still protected, shall know, Those who dare to be free, shall for ever be so;
On these arms and these hearts they may surely rely, For in freedom we'll live, or like heroes we'll die.
When oppress'd and reproach'd, our king we implore, Still firmly persuaded our rights he'll restore;
When our hearts beat to arms, to defend a just right, Our monarch rules there, and forbids us to fight.
Not the glitter of arms, nor the dread of a fray, Could make us submit to their chains for a day;
Withheld by affection, on Britons we call, Prevent the fierce conflict which threatens your fall!
All ages shall speak, with amaze and applause, Of the prudence we show in support of our cause;
Assur'd of our safety, a Brunswick still reigns, Whose free loyal subjects are strangers to chains.
Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all! To be free is to live, to be slaves is to fall;
Has the land such a dastard, as scorns not a lord, Who dreads not a fetter much more than a sword.


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