Most chivalrous gentlemen—pardon us, pray,
And pity our present condition—
The lady fanatics have carried the day,
And openly preach Abolition!
The petticoat-plotters, with might and with main,
Are tearing the bonds of the Union in twain!
We knew, to our sorrow, that over their tea,
These ladies, for months, had been brewing
A plot to dismember the Union, and free
Your slaves, to their positive ruin:
But who would have dreamed that they ever would dare,
In the face of New Hampshire, their purpose declare!
Oh, where had the fear of the P*****t gone
From the eyes of these turbulent ladies?
And where Parson F**k's indignation and scorn
Which overwhelmed all, when he made his
Great speech at our democrat gathering, when
Abolition was working its way with the men?
Alack and alas! that we live to relate
How these Amazons gathered together,
Consulting each other, in solemn debate,
About loosing the slave from his tether;
And gravely resolving your negroes to be
Created like all of us—equal and free.
But think not, dear sirs, that with conduct so base,
'The democracy' rested in quiet—
No—it rose in its strength to redeem from disgrace
The town, by a regular riot!
And, surrounding the house where the mischief went on,
Plied well the 'fanatics' with brickbat and stone.
Through door and through window our missiles went in,
Disturbing the laces and trimming—
Oh, would that 'our dear southern brethren' had seen
How 'democracy' pelted the women!
And had heard, midst the crashing of brickbats, its shout—
'Hurra for the Union!—you women, clear out!'
Yet, it grieves us to say, that in spite of our great
And most patriotic exertion,
These petticoat-traitors regarded our feat
As merely a cause of diversion;
And still they went on, without let or disaster,
To spoil 'the relations of servant and master.'
But, though foiled in its efforts to drive away
This bevy of gossip and beauty,
'The democracy' feels, and rejoices to say,
That it fully performed its duty;
And it trusts that its friends will with cheerfulness own,
That all that it could do, in safety, was done!
We are sadly disheartened, and all in a fret—
Parson F**k is about to absquatalize,
And B—t—n beneath the States Prison debt
Is hiding himself from mortal eyes;
Even H**l cannot help us—his hands are too full,
Making C**h**n a 'democrat dyed in the wool.'
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White Slave, Doughface, &, Co.