Now, to keep unimpaired all these glorious feeturs
Thet characterize morril an’ reasonin’ creeturs,
Thet give every paytriot all he can cram,
Thet oust the untrustworthy Presidunt Flam,
An’ stick honest Presidunt Sham in his place,
To the manifest gain o’ the holl human race,
An’ to some indervidgewals on ’t in partickler,
Who love Public Opinion an’ know how to tickle her,—­
I say thet a party with gret aims like these
Must stick jest ez close ez a hive full o’ bees. 90

I’m willin’ a man should go tollable strong
Agin wrong in the abstract, fer thet kind o’ wrong
Is ollers unpop’lar an’ never gits pitied,
Because it’s a crime no one never committed;
But he mus’n’t be hard on partickler sins,
Coz then he’ll be kickin’ the people’s own shins;
On’y look at the Demmercrats, see wut they’ve done
Jest simply by stickin’ together like fun;
They’ve sucked us right into a mis’able war
Thet no one on airth aint responsible for; 100
They’ve run us a hundred cool millions in debt
(An’ fer Demmercrat Horners there’s good plums left yet);
They talk agin tayriffs, but act fer a high one,
An’ so coax all parties to build up their Zion;
To the people they’re ollers ez slick ez molasses,
An’ butter their bread on both sides with The Masses,
Half o’ whom they’ve persuaded, by way of a joke,
Thet Washinton’s mantlepiece fell upon Polk.

Now all o’ these blessin’s the Wigs might enjoy,
Ef they’d gumption enough the right means to imploy;[20] 110
Fer the silver spoon born in Dermoc’acy’s mouth
Is a kind of a scringe thet they hev to the South;
Their masters can cuss ’em an’ kick ’em an’ wale ’em. 
An’ they notice it less ’an the ass did to Balaam;
In this way they screw into second-rate offices
Wich the slaveholder thinks ’ould substract too much off his ease;
The file-leaders, I mean, du, fer they, by their wiles,
Unlike the old viper, grow fat on their files. 
Wal, the Wigs hev been tryin’ to grab all this prey frum ’em
An’ to hook this nice spoon o’ good fortin’ away frum ’em, 120
An’ they might ha’ succeeded, ez likely ez not,
In lickin’ the Demmercrats all round the lot,
Ef it warn’t thet, wile all faithful Wigs were their knees on,
Some stuffy old codger would holler out,—­’Treason! 
You must keep a sharp eye on a dog thet hez bit you once,
An’ I aint agoin’ to cheat my constitoounts,’—­
Wen every fool knows thet a man represents
Not the fellers thet sent him, but them on the fence,—­
Impartially ready to jump either side
An’ make the fust use of a turn o’ the tide,—­ 130
The waiters on Providunce here in the city,
Who compose wut they call a State Centerl Committy,
Constitoounts air hendy to help a man in,
But arterwards don’t weigh the heft of a pin,
Wy, the people can’t all live on Uncle Sam’s