Jest here some dogs begun to bark,
So thet I lost old Concord’s last remark: 
I listened long, but all I seemed to hear
Was dead leaves gossipin’ on some birch-trees near;
But ez they hedn’t no gret things to say,
An’ sed ’em often, I come right away,
An’, walkin’ home’ards, jest to pass the time, 340
I put some thoughts thet bothered me in rhyme;
I hain’t hed time to fairly try ’em on,
But here they be—­it’s

JONATHAN TO JOHN

It don’t seem hardly right, John,
  When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight, John,—­
  Your cousin, tu, John Bull! 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess
    We know it now,’ sez he,
’The lion’s paw is all the law,
    Accordin’ to J.B.,
    Thet’s fit for you an’ me!’ 9

You wonder why we’re hot, John? 
  Your mark wuz on the guns,
The neutral guns, thet shot, John,
  Our brothers an’ our sons: 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess
    There’s human blood,’ sez he,
‘By fits an’ starts, in Yankee hearts,
    Though’t may surprise J.B. 
    More ‘n it would you an’ me.’

Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
  On your front-parlor stairs, 20
Would it jest meet your views, John,
  To wait an’ sue their heirs? 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess,
    I on’y guess,’ sez he,
 ’Thet ef Vattel on his toes fell,
    ‘Twould kind o’ rile J.B.,
    Ez wal ez you an’ me!’

Who made the law thet hurts, John,
  Heads I win,—­ditto tails?
‘J.B.’ was on his shirts, John, 30
  Onless my memory fails. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess
    (I’m good at thet),’ sez he,
’Thet sauce for goose ain’t jest the juice
    For ganders with J.B.,
    No more ‘n with you or me!’

When your rights was our wrongs, John,
  You didn’t stop for fuss,—­
Britanny’s trident prongs, John,
  Was good ’nough law for us. 40
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess,
    Though physic’s good,’ sez he,
’It doesn’t foller thet he can swaller
    Prescriptions signed “J.B.,”
    Put up by you an’ me!’

We own the ocean, tu, John: 
  You mus’n’ take it hard,
Ef we can’t think with you, John,
  It’s jest your own back-yard. 49
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess,
    Ef thet’s his claim,’ sez he,
‘The fencin’ stuff’ll cost enough
    To bust up friend J.B.,
    Ez wal ez you an’ me!’

Why talk so dreffle big, John,
  Of honor when it meant
You didn’t care a fig, John,
  But jest for ten per cent?
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, ’I guess
    He’s like the rest,’ sez he:  60
’When all is done, it’s number one
    Thet’s nearest to J.B.,
    Ez wal ez t’ you an’ me!’