pus,
So they’ve nothin’ to du with ’t fer better or wus;
It’s the folks thet air kind o’ brought up to depend on ’t
Thet hev any consarn in ‘t, an’ thet is the end on ’t. 
Now here wuz New England ahevin’ the honor
Of a chance at the Speakership showered upon her;—­ 140
Do you say, ’She don’t want no more Speakers, but fewer;
She’s hed plenty o’ them, wut she wants is a doer’? 
Fer the matter o’ thet, it’s notorous in town
Thet her own representatives du her quite brown. 
But thet’s nothin’ to du with it; wut right hed Palfrey
To mix himself up with fanatical small fry? 
Warn’t we gittin’ on prime with our hot an’ cold blowin’,
Acondemnin’ the war wilst we kep’ it agoin’? 
We’d assumed with gret skill a commandin’ position. 
On this side or thet, no one couldn’t tell wich one, 150
So, wutever side wipped, we’d a chance at the plunder
An’ could sue fer infringin’ our paytented thunder;
We were ready to vote fer whoever wuz eligible,
Ef on all pints at issoo he’d stay unintelligible. 
Wal, sposin’ we hed to gulp down our perfessions. 
We were ready to come out next mornin’ with fresh ones;
Besides, ef we did, ’twas our business alone,
Fer couldn’t we du wut we would with our own? 
An’ ef a man can, wen pervisions hev riz so,
Eat up his own words, it’s a marcy it is so. 160
Wy, these chaps frum the North, with back-bones to ’em, darn ’em,
’Ould be wuth more ’an Gennle Tom Thumb is to Barnum: 
Ther’s enough thet to office on this very plan grow,
By exhibitin’ how very small a man can grow;
But an M.C. frum here ollers hastens to state he
Belongs to the order called invertebraty,
Wence some gret filologists judge primy fashy
Thet M.C. is M.T. by paronomashy;
An’ these few exceptions air loosus naytury
Folks ’ould put down their quarters to stare at, like fury. 170
It’s no use to open the door o’ success,
Ef a member can bolt so fer nothin’ or less;
Wy, all o’ them grand constitootional pillers
Our fore-fathers fetched with ’em over the billers,
Them pillers the people so soundly hev slep’ on,
Wile to slav’ry, invasion, an’ debt they were swep’ on,
Wile our Destiny higher an’ higher kep’ mountin’
(Though I guess folks’ll stare wen she hends her account in),
Ef members in this way go kickin’ agin ’em,
They wunt hev so much ez a feather left in ’em. 180

An’, ez fer this Palfrey,[21] we thought wen we’d gut him in, He’d go kindly in wutever harness we put him in; Supposin’ we did know thet he wuz a peace man?  Does he think he can be Uncle Sammle’s policeman, An’ wen Sam gits tipsy an’ kicks up a riot, Lead him off to the lockup to snooze till he’s quiet?  Wy, the war is a war thet true paytriots can bear, ef It leads to the fat promised land of a tayriff; We don’t go an’ fight it, nor aint to be driv on, Nor Demmercrats nuther, thet hev wut