England:  will it pay
  To fear thet meaner bully, old “They’ll say”? 
  Suppose they du say:  words are dreffle bores,
  But they ain’t quite so bad ez seventy-fours. 
  Wut England wants is jest a wedge to fit
  Where it’ll help to widen out our split: 
  She’s found her wedge, an’ ’t ain’t for us to come
  An’ lend the beetle thet’s to drive it home. 
  For growed-up folks like us ’t would be a scandle,
  When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle. 
  England ain’t all bad, coz she thinks us blind: 
  Ef she can’t change her skin, she can her mind;
  An’ you will see her change it double-quick,
  Soon ez we’ve proved thet we’re a-goin’ to lick. 
  She an’ Columby’s gut to be fas’ friends;
  For the world prospers by their privit ends: 
  ‘T would put the clock back all o’ fifty years,
  Ef they should fall together by the ears.

  THE BRIDGE.

You may be right; but hearken in your ear,—­ I’m older ’n you,—­Peace wun’t keep house with Fear:  Ef you want peace, the thing you’ve gut to du Is jest to show you’re up to fightin’, tu. I recollect how sailors’ rights was won Yard locked in yard, hot gun-lip kissin’ gun:  Why, afore thet, John Bull sot up thet he Hed gut a kind o’ mortgage on the sea; You’d thought he held by Gran’ther Adam’s will, An’ ef you knuckle down, he’ll think so still.  Better thet all our ships an’ all their crews Should sink to rot in ocean’s dreamless ooze, Each torn flag wavin’ chellenge ez it went, An’ each dumb gun a brave man’s moniment, Than seek sech peace ez only cowards crave:  Give me the peace of dead men or of brave!

  THE MONIMENT.

  I say, ole boy, it ain’t the Glorious Fourth: 
  You’d oughto learned ’fore this wut talk wuz worth. 
  It ain’t our nose thet gits put out o’ jint;
  It’s England thet gives up her dearest pint. 
  We’ve gut, I tell ye now, enough to du
  In our own fem’ly fight, afore we’re thru. 
  I hoped, las’ spring, jest arter Sumter’s shame,
  When every flag-staff flapped its tethered flame,
  An’ all the people, startled from their doubt,
  Come must’rin’ to the flag with sech a shout,—­

  I hoped to see things settled ’fore this fall,
  The Rebbles licked, Jeff Davis hanged, an’ all;
  Then come Bull Run, an’ sence then I’ve ben waitin’
  Like boys in Jennooary thaw for skatin’,
  Nothin’ to du but watch my shadder’s trace
  Swing, like a ship at anchor, roun’ my base,
  With daylight’s flood an’ ebb:  it’s gittin’ slow,
  An’ I ’most think we’d better let ’em go. 
  I tell ye wut, this war’s a-goin’ to cost—­

  THE BRIDGE.

  An’ I tell you it wun’t be money lost;
  Taxes milks dry, but, neighbor, you’ll allow
  Thet havin’ things onsettled kills the cow: 
  We’ve gut to fix this thing for good an’ all;