Gineral C, has gone in fer the war; He don't vally principle more'n an old cud; Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer, But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood? So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote for Gineral C.
We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't. We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage, An' thet eppylets worn't the best mark of a saint; But John P. Robinson he Sez this kind o' thing 's an exploded idee.
The side of our country must ollers be took, An' President Polk, you know, he is our country; An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry; An' John P. Robinson he Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.
Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies; Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest fee, faw, fum: And thet all this big talk of our destinies Is half ov it ign'ance, an' t' other half rum; But John P. Robinson he Sez it ain't no sech thing; an', of course, so must we.
Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swallertail coats, An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife, To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes; But John P. Robinson he Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.
Wal, it's a marcy we've gut folks to tell us The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow,— God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers, To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough; Fer John P. Robinson he Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
SWELL'S SOLILOQUY.
I don't appwove this hawid waw; Those dweadful bannahs hawt my eyes; And guns and dwums are such a baw,— Why don't the pawties compwamise?
Of cawce, the twoilet has its chawms; But why must all the vulgah cwowd Pawsist in spawting unifawms, In cullahs so extwemely loud?