See, on her stern the waving stars —

Inur’d to blood, inur’d to wars,

Come, enter quick, my jolly tars,

To scourge these haughty Britons.

Here’s grog enough —then drink about,

I know your hearts are firm and stout;

American blood will ne'er give out,

And often we have prov’d it.

Though stormy oceans round us roll,

We’ll keep a firm undaunted soul,

Befriended by the cheering bowl,

Sworn foes to melancholy:

While timorous landsmen lurk on shore,

‘Tis ours to go where cannons roar —

On a coasting cruise we’ll go once more,

Despisers of all danger;

And Fortune still that crowns the brave

Shall guard us o'er the gloomy wave...

- from "Barney's Invitation" by Philip Freneau