COUNT LUIE: Sir Obreon, methinks thy mental grasp Of things politic is indeed but dim. The "Constitution" is a weapon grand. The Democratic party when in war, To closer weld the bonds which held the slave, E'en then did show earnest solicitude Lest the cold-blooded North should not observe That sacred instrument, but it should break By sending men of war from out their states To subjugate us of the knightly South. Our party hath indeed a record grand. Its _flexibility_ to all demands Doth admiration claim from all the world. Today it loud proclaims "sixteen to one;" Tomorrow to the golden calf it kneels. Today those stars we worship in our flag As emblematic of each sovereign state; Tomorrow we demand the "stars and bars" Supplant them as Imperialistic sign. A DEMOCRAT: But would not that involve the speedy death Of that grand song which we have learned to love, The song which doth demand that those bright stars Shall wave in triumph through the ages long? COUNT LUIE: Oh we could substitute for it our hymn Which fired paternal hearts in sixty-one; The "Bonny Blue Flag" doth have a smoother ring, Or "Dixy" might supplant the time-worn song! SIR LA MUTT: Ah "Dixie" were indeed a noble air And caryeth upon its varied strains Our mun'ries back to those embattled days When our forebears did war a vandal host. A DEMOCRAT (_with wool not deeply dyed_) I fear the people's hearts in northers climes Are wedded to the flag as it did wave When they were battling for the nation's life And ne'er such innovation would approve. SIR LA MUTT: When we like game-cocks strut and fiercely crow, These men _for sake of peace_ e'er knuckle down Fear not, for we are in the saddle now, And so the charger yieldeth to the spur.