| |
| IT don’t seem hardly right, John, | |
| When both my hands was full, | |
| To stump me to a fight, John,— | |
| Your cousin, tu, John Bull! | |
| Old Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | 5 |
| We know it now,” sez he, | |
| “The Lion’s paw is all the law, | |
| Accordin’ to J. B., | |
| Thet ’s fit for you and me!” | |
| |
| You wonder why we ’re hot, John? | 10 |
| Your mark wuz on the guns, | |
| The neutral guns, thet shot, John, | |
| Our brothers an’ our sons: | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| There ’s human blood,” sez he, | 15 |
| “By fits an’ starts, in Yankee hearts, | |
| Though ’t may surprise J. B. | |
| More ’n it would you an’ me.” | |
| |
| Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John, | |
| On your front parlor stairs, | 20 |
| Would it just meet your views, John, | |
| To wait an’ sue their heirs? | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess, | |
| I on’y guess,” sez he, | |
| “Thet ef Vattel on his toes fell, | 25 |
| ’T would kind o’ rile J. B., | |
| Ez wal ez you an’ me!” | |
| |
| Who made the law thet hurts, John, | |
| Heads I win—ditto tails? | |
| “J. B.” was on his shirts, John, | 30 |
| Onless my memory fails. | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| (I ’m good at thet),” sez he, | |
| “Thet sauce for goose ain’t jest the juice | |
| For ganders with J. B., | 35 |
| No more ’n with you or me!” | |
| |
| When your rights was our wrongs, John, | |
| You didn’t stop for fuss,— | |
| Britanny’s trident prongs, John, | |
| Was good ’nough law for us. | 40 |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| Though physic ’s good,” sez he, | |
| “It doesn’t foller thet he can swaller | |
| Prescriptions signed ‘J. B.’ | |
| Put up by you an’ me.” | 45 |
| |
| We own the ocean, tu, John, | |
| You mus’n’ take it hard, | |
| Ef we can’t think with you, John, | |
| It ’s jest your own back yard. | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | 50 |
| Ef thet ’s his claim,” sez he, | |
| “The fencin’ stuff ’ll cost enough | |
| To bust up friend J. B. | |
| Ez wal ez you an’ me!” | |
| |
| Why talk so dreffle big, John, | 55 |
| Of honor when it meant | |
| You didn’t care a fig, John, | |
| But jest for ten per cent? | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| He ’s like the rest,” sez he, | 60 |
| “When all is done, it ’s number one | |
| Thet ’s nearest to J. B., | |
| Ez wal ez t’ you an’ me!” | |
| |
| We give the critters back, John, | |
| Cos Abram thought ’t was right; | 65 |
| It warn’t your bullyin’ clack, John, | |
| Provokin’ us to fight. | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| We ’ve a hard row,” sez he, | |
| “To hoe just now; but thet, somehow, | 70 |
| May happen to J. B., | |
| Ez well ez you an’ me!” | |
| |
| We ain’t so weak an’ poor, John, | |
| With twenty million people, | |
| An’ close to every door, John, | 75 |
| A school house an’ a steeple. | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| It is a fact,” sez he, | |
| “The surest plan to make a Man | |
| Is, think him so, J. B., | 80 |
| Ez much ez you an’ me!” | |
| |
| Our folks believe in Law, John; | |
| An’ it ’s fer her sake, now, | |
| They ’ve left the axe an’ saw, John, | |
| The anvil an’ the plow. | 85 |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| Ef ’t warn’t fer law,” sez he, | |
| “There ’d be one shindy from here to Indy; | |
| An’ thet don’t suit J. B. | |
| (When ’t ain’t ’twixt you an’ me!)” | 90 |
| |
| We know we ’ve got a cause, John, | |
| Thet ’s honest, just, an’ true; | |
| We thought ’t would win applause, John, | |
| Ef nowhere else, from you. | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | 95 |
| His love of right,” sez he, | |
| “Hangs by a rotten fibre o’ cotton; | |
| There ’s natur’ in J. B., | |
| Ez well ez you an’ me!” | |
| |
| The South says, “Poor folks down!” John, | 100 |
| An’ “All men up!” say we,— | |
| White, yaller, black, an’ brown, John; | |
| Now which is your idee? | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| John preaches wal,” sez he; | 105 |
| “But, sermon thru, an’ come to du, | |
| Why there ’s the old J. B. | |
| A-crowdin’ you an’ me!” | |
| |
| Shall it be love or hate, John? | |
| It ’s you thet ’s to decide; | 110 |
| Ain’t your bonds held by Fate, John, | |
| Like all the world’s beside? | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| Wise men fergive,” sez he, | |
| “But not ferget; an’ some time yet | 115 |
| Thet truth may strike J. B., | |
| Ez wal ez you an’ me!” | |
| |
| God means to make this land, John, | |
| Clear thru, from sea to sea, | |
| Believe an’ understand, John, | 120 |
| The wuth o’ bein’ free. | |
| Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess | |
| God’s price is high,” sez he; | |
| “But nothin’ else than wut he sells | |
| Wears long, an’ thet J. B. | 125 |
| May larn, like you an’ me!” | |
| |
