must;
She’s praised herself ontil she fairly thinks
There ain’t no light in Natur when she winks;
Hain’t she the Ten Comman’ments in her pus? 
Could the world stir ’thout she went, tu, ez nus? 
She ain’t like other mortals, thet’s a fact: 
She never stopped the habus-corpus act,
Nor specie payments, nor she never yet
Cut down the int’rest on her public debt; 130
She don’t put down rebellions, lets ’em breed,
An’ ‘s ollers willin’ Ireland should secede;
She’s all thet’s honest, honnable, an’ fair,
An’ when the vartoos died they made her heir.

THE MONIMENT

Wal, wal, two wrongs don’t never make a right; Ef we’re mistaken, own up, an’ don’t fight:  For gracious’ sake, ha’n’t we enough to du ‘thout gettin’ up a fight with England, tu?  She thinks we’re rabble-rid—­

THE BRIDGE

An’ so we can’t
Distinguish ‘twixt You oughtn’t an’ You shan’t! 140
She jedges by herself; she’s no idear
How ’t stiddies folks to give ’em their fair sheer: 
The odds ‘twixt her an’ us is plain’s a steeple,—­
Her People’s turned to Mob, our Mob’s turned People.

THE MONIMENT

She’s riled jes’ now—­

THE BRIDGE

Plain proof her cause ain’t strong,—­
The one thet fust gits mad’s ’most ollers wrong. 
Why, sence she helped in lickin’ Nap the Fust,
An’ pricked a bubble jest agoin’ to bust,
With Rooshy, Prooshy, Austry, all assistin’,
Th’ ain’t nut a face but wut she’s shook her fist in, 150
Ez though she done it all, an’ ten times more,
An’ nothin’ never hed gut done afore,
Nor never could agin, ’thout she wuz spliced
On to one eend an’ gin th’ old airth a hoist. 
She is some punkins, thet I wun’t deny,
(For ain’t she some related to you ‘n’ I?)
But there’s a few small intrists here below
Outside the counter o’ John Bull an’ Co,
An’ though they can’t conceit how ’t should be so,
I guess the Lord druv down Creation’s spiles 160
‘thout no gret helpin’ from the British Isles,
An’ could contrive to keep things pooty stiff
Ef they withdrawed from business in a miff;
I ha’n’t no patience with sech swellin’ fellers ez
Think God can’t forge ’thout them to blow the bellerses.

THE MONIMENT

You’re ollers quick to set your back aridge, Though ’t suits a tom-cat more ’n a sober bridge:  Don’t you get het:  they thought the thing was planned; They’ll cool off when they come to understand.

THE BRIDGE