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Wy, it 's jest ez clear ez figgers,
Clear ez one an' one make two, Chaps thet make black slaves o' niggers
Want to make wite slaves o' you.
Tell ye jest the eend I 've come to
Arter cipherin' plaguy smart, An' it makes a handy sum, tu,
Any gump could larn by heart; Laborin' man an' laborin woman
Hev one glory an' one shame, Ev'y thin' thet 's done inhuman
Injers all on 'em the same.
'Taint by turnin' out to hack folks
You 're agoin' to git your right, Nor by lookin' down on black folks
Coz you 're put upon by wite ; Slavery aint o' nary color,
'Taint the hide thet makes it wus,
All it keers fer in a feller
'S jest to make him fill its pus.
Want to tackle me in, du ye?
I expect you 'll hev to wait ; Wen cold lead puts daylight thru ye
You 'll begin to kal’late ; Spose the crows wun't fall to pickin' All the carkiss from
your bones, Coz you helped to give a lickin
To them poor half-Spanish drones?
home an’ ask our Nancy Wether I 'd be sech a goose Ez to jine ye, - guess you 'd fancy
The etarnal bung wuz loose ! She wants me fer home consumption,
Let alone the hay 's to mow,Ef you 're arter folks o' gumption,
You ’ve a darned long row to hoe.
Take them editors thet 's crowin'
Like a cockerel three months old, Don't ketch any on 'em goin',
Though they be so blasted bold;
Aint they a prime set o fellers ?
'Fore they think on 't they will sprout, (Like a peach thet's got the yellers,)
With the meanness bustin? out.
Wal, go 'long to help 'em stealin'
Bigger pens to cram with slaves, Help the men thet 's ollers dealin' Insults on your fathers'
graves ; Help the strong to grind the feeble,
Help the many agin the few, Help the men thet call your people
Witewashed slaves an' peddlin' crew!
Massachusetts, God forgive her,
She 's akneelin' with the rest, She, thet ough' to ha' clung fer ever
In her grand old eagle-nest ; She thet ough to stand so fearless
Wile the wracks are round her hurled, Holdin' up a beacon peerless
To the oppressed of all the world!
Haint they sold
men? Haint they made your env'ys wiz? Wut'll make ye act like freemen?
Wut 'll git your dander riz ? Come, I 'll tell ye wut I'm thinkin'
Is our dooty in this fix, They'd ha' done 't ez quick ez winkin'
In the days o' seventy-six.
Clang the bells in every steeple,
Call all true men to disown
The tradoocers of our people,
The enslavers o' their own;
Let our dear old Bay State proudly
Put the trumpet to her mouth, Let her ring this messidge loudly
In the ears of all the South :
• 1 'll return ye good fer evil
Much ez we frail mortils can, But I wun't go help the Devil
Makin' man the cus o' man ;
Call me coward, call me traiter,
your mean idees,
An' the friend o' God an' Peace!”
Ef I'd my way I hed ruther
We should go to work an' part,
Guess it would n't break my heart;
Them thet God has noways jined ;
[The first recruiting sergeant on record I conceive to have been that individual who is mentioned in the Book of Job as going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it. Bishop Latimer will have him to have been a bishop, but to me that other calling would appear more congenial. The sect of Cainites is not yet extinct, who esteemed the first-born of Adam to be the most worthy, not only because of that privilege of primogeniture, but inasmuch as he was able to overcome and slay his younger brother. That was a wise saying of the famous Marquis Pescara to the Papal Legate, that it was impossible for men to serve Mars and Christ at the same time. Yet in time past the profession