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Thou, taught by Fate to know Jehovah's plan
Thet man's devices can't unmake a man,
An' whose free latch-string never was drawed in
Against the poorest child of Adam's kin, -
The grave 's not dug where traitor hands shall lay
In fearful haste thy murdered corse away!

I see

Jest here some dogs begun to bark, So thet I lost old Concord's last remark: I listened long, but all I seemed to hear Was dead leaves gossipin' on some birch - trees

near; But ez they hed n't no gret things to say, An' sed 'em often, I come right away, An', walkin' home'ards, jest to pass the time, I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme ; I hain't hed time to fairly try 'em on, But here they be - it's


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 !

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess

We know it now," sez he,
“ The lion's paw is all the law,

Accordin' to J. B.,
Thet's fit for you an' me!”

You wonder why we 're hot, John ?

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, “By fits an' starts, in Yankee hearts,

Though ’t may surprise J. B.
More 'n it would


an' me.”

Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,

On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest 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,

'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,

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.,
No more 'n with you or me!”

When your rights was our wrongs, John,

You did n't stop for fuss, —

Britanny's trident prongs, John,
Was good 'nough law for us.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,

Though physic 's good," sez he, “ It does n't foller thet he can swaller

Prescriptions signed ‘J. B.,'
Put up by you an' me!”

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,

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 drefile big, John,

Of honor when it meant You did n'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: “ 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; 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 jest now; but thet, somehow,

May happen to J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!”

We ain't so weak an' poor, John,

With twenty million people, An' close to every door, John, 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.,
Ez much ez you or me!”

Our folks believe in Law, John;

An' it's for her sake, now,
They ’ve left the axe an' saw, John,
The anvil an' the plough.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “ I guess,

Ef 't warn't for 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 !) ”

We know we've got a cause, John,

Thet's honest, just, an' true;
We thought 't would win applause, John,
Ef nowheres else, from you.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess
His love of right," sez he,

Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton :

There's natur' in J. B.,
Ez wal 'z in you an' me!”

The South says, “ Poor folks down !John,

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 ;
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 ;
Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John,
Like all the world's beside ?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, “ I guess

Wise men forgive," sez he,
“But not forgit; an' some time yit

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, 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.
May larn, like you an' me!”

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