Some call 't insultin' to ask _ary_ pledge, An' say 't will only set their teeth on edge, But folks you 've jest licked, fur 'z I ever see, Are 'bout ez mad ez they know how to be; It 's better than the Rebs themselves expected 'Fore they see Uncle Sam wilt down henpected; Be kind 'z you please, but fustly make things fast, For plain Truth 's all the kindness thet 'll last; Ef treason is a crime, ez _some_ folks say, How could we punish it a milder way Than sayin' to 'em, "Brethren, lookee here, We 'll jes' divide things with ye, sheer an' sheer, An' sence both come o' pooty strongbacked daddies, You take the Darkies, ez we 've took the Paddies; Ign'ant an' poor we took 'em by the hand, An' the 're the bones an' sinners o' the land." I ain't o' those thet fancy there 's a loss on Every inves'ment thet don't start from Bos'on; But I know this: our money 's safest trusted In sunthin', come wut will, thet _can't_ be busted, An' thet 's the old Amerikin idee, To make a man a Man an' let him be. Ez for their l'yalty, don't take a goad to 't, But I do' want to block their only road to 't By lettin' 'em believe thet they can git More 'n wut they lost, out of our little wit: I tell ye wut, I 'm 'fraid we 'll drif' to leeward 'Thout we can put more stiffenin' into Seward; He seems to think Columby 'd better act Like a scared widder with a boy stiff-necked Thet stomps an' swears he wun't come in to supper; She mus' set up for him, ez weak ez Tupper, Keepin' the Constitootion on to warm, Till he 'll accept her 'pologies in form: The neighbors tell her he 's a cross-grained cuss Thet needs a hidin' 'fore he comes to wus; "No," sez Ma Seward, "he 's ez good 'z the best, All he wants now is sugar-plums an' rest"; "He sarsed my Pa," sez one; "He stoned my son," Another edds. "O, wal, 't wuz jest his fun." "He tried to shoot our Uncle Samwell dead." "'T wuz only tryin' a noo gun he hed." "Wal, all we ask 's to hev it understood You'll take his gun away from him for good; We don't, wal, nut exac'ly, like his play, Seein' he allus kin' o' shoots our way. You kill your fatted calves to no good eend, 'Thout his fust sayin', 'Mother, I hev' sinned!'"