Pickenses, Boggses, Pettuses, Magoffins, Letchers, Polks,—
Where can you scare up names like them among your mudsill folks?
Ther’ ’s nothin’ to compare with ’em, you’d fin’, ef you should glance,
Among the tip-top femerlies in Englan’, nor in France:
I’ve hearn from ’sponsible men whose word wuz full ez good’s their note,
Men thet can run their face for drinks, an’ keep a Sunday coat,
Thet they wuz all on ’em come down, an’ come down pooty fur,
From folks thet, ’thout their crowns wuz on, ou’doors would n’ never stir,
Nor thet ther’ warn’t a Southun man but wut wuz primy fashy
O’ the bes’ blood in Europe, yis, an’ Afriky an’ Ashy: