Strip off my clothes, expose my back,
From shoulder to the hip,
Hold fast my hands in vise like rack,
Nor once let go the grip.
Now raise your weapon high in air,
And strike with all your might,
On my poor back now white and fair,
Nor hide the brutal sight.
A single lash is not enough
To bring the color quick,
A “cat o’ eight tails” strong and tough,
Will sooner make me sick.
Rain down the blows nor halt to rest,
Till you are out of breath,
Another brute with equal zest,
Will whip me most to death.
See now the color pinky bright,
But just over my heart,
There still remain some streaks of white,
Don’t miss this vital part.
Measure your blows and deal them straight,
Bring out the redder hue,
Nor let your cruel strokes abate,
Till all is black and blue.
Now burns my back as if by fire,
Red roasted in a flame,
What more can cruel fate require,
Of my poor trembling frame?
I shrink with fear, I scream with pain,
I pray “O spare my life,”
So squeals the pig and squeals in vain,
For deeper goes the knife.
My voice is hushed, I faint, I choke,
Death hovers closely by,
Down falls another last hard stroke,
“Take that, you wretch, and die.”
O Michigan, my Michigan,
Let your heart strings unfurl,
Blot out the stain of Adrian,
And pity the wayward girl.