Division so’s to give a piece to twenty thousand privits;
Ef you should multiply by ten the portion o’ the brav’st one,
You wouldn’t git more ’n half enough to speak of on a grave-stun;
We git the licks,—­we’re jest the grist thet’s put into War’s hoppers;
Leftenants is the lowest grade thet helps pick up the coppers. 
It may suit folks thet go agin a body with a soul in ’t,
An’ aint contented with a hide without a bagnet hole in ’t;
But glory is a kin’ o’ thing I sha’n’t pursue no furder,
Coz thet’s the off’cers’ parquisite,—­yourn’s on’y jest the murder.

Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I at least there’s one 100 Thing in the bills we aint bed yit, an’ thet’s the GLORIOUS FUN; Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may persume we All day an’ night shall revel in the halls o’ Montezumy.  I’ll tell ye wut my revels wuz, an’ see how you would like ’em; We never gut inside the hall:  the nighest ever I come Wuz stan’in’ sentry in the sun (an’, fact, it seemed a cent’ry) A ketchin’ smells o’ biled an’ roast thet come out thru the entry, An’ hearin’ ez I sweltered thru my passes an’ repasses, A rat-tat-too o’ knives an’ forks, a clinkty-clink o’ glasses:  I can’t tell off the bill o’ fare the Gin’rals hed inside; 110 All I know is, thet out o’ doors a pair o’ soles wuz fried, An’ not a hunderd miles away from ware this child wuz posted, A Massachusetts citizen wuz baked an’ biled an’ roasted; The on’y thing like revellin’ thet ever come to me Wuz bein’ routed out o’ sleep by thet darned revelee.

They say the quarrel’s settled now; for my part I’ve some doubt on ’t, ’t’ll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean on ’t; At any rate I’m so used up I can’t do no more fightin’, The on’y chance thet’s left to me is politics or writin’; Now, ez the people’s gut to hev a milingtary man, 120 An’ I aint nothin’ else jest now, I’ve hit upon a plan; The can’idatin’ line, you know, ’ould suit me to a T, An’ ef I lose, ’twunt hurt my ears to lodge another flea; So I’ll set up ez can’idate fer any kin’ o’ office, (I mean fer any thet includes good easy-cheers an’ soffies; Fer ez tu runnin’ fer a place ware work’s the time o’ day, You know thet’s wut I never did,—­except the other way;)
Ef it’s the Presidential cheer fer wich I’d better run,
Wut two legs anywares about could keep up with my one? 
There aint no kin’ o’ quality in can’idates, it’s said, 130
So useful eza wooden leg,—­except a wooden head;
There’s nothin’ aint so poppylar—­(wy, it ’s a parfect sin
To think wut Mexico hez paid fer Santy Anny’s pin;)—­
Then I haint gut no princerples, an’, sence I wuz knee-high,
I never did hev any gret, ez you can testify;
I’m a decided peace-man, tu, an’ go agin the war,—­
Fer now the holl on ‘t’s gone an’ past, wut is there to go for? 
Ef, wile you’re ‘lectioneerin’ round, some curus chaps should beg