When all his store is cool. And then the beggar,
Singing, like saw-mill, a hymn or a tender ballad
Smugly, yet winking his eyebrow. Then the “Army,”
Causing wild oaths as, clad in monstrous garb,
With drum and cornet, gaily they preach or quarrel,
Seizing the soldier’s designation,
But facing no cannon’s mouth, And then th’ Italian,
His poor pinched belly seldom with square-meal lined,
With coal-black eye and hair that should be cut.
And organ belching nigger melodies.