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James Russell Lowell - Jonathan to John
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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!" 
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, 
Would it jest meet your views, John, 
   To wait and sue their heirs? 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, 
    I only 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, 
   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 than 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. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, 
    Though physic`s good," sez he, 
"It doesn`t foller that 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. 
    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: 
"When all is done, it`s number one 
    Thet`s nearest to J. B., 
    Ez wal ez you an` me!" 

We give the critters back, John, 
   Cos Abram thought `twas right; 
It warn`t your bullyin` clack, John, 
   Provokin` us to fight. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess 
    We`ve a hard row," sez he, 
"To hoe jest now; but thet somehow, 
   May happen to J. B., 
   Ez wal ez you an` me!" 

We ain`t so weak an` poor, John, 
   With twenty million people, 
An` close to every door, John, 
   A school-house an` a steeple. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess 
    It is a fact," sez he, 
"The surest plan to make a Man 
   Is, think him so, J. B., 
   Ez much ez you or me!" 

Our folks believe in Law, John; 
   An` it`s for her sake, now, 
They`ve left the ax an` saw, John, 
   The anvil an` the plough. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, 
    Ef `twarn`t for law," sez he, 
"There`d be one shindy from here to Indy, 
   An` thet don`t suit J. B. 
   (When `tain`t `twixt you an` me!)" 

We know we`ve got a cause, John, 
   Thet`s honest, just an` true; 
We thought `twould win applause, John, 
   Ef nowheres else, from you. 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess 
    His love of right," sez he, 
"Hangs by a rotten fibre o` cotton: 
    There`s natur` in J. B., 
    Ez wal ez you an` me!" 

The South says, "Poor folks down!" John, 
   An, "All men up!" say we,— 
White, yaller, black, an` brown, John: 
   Now which is your idee? 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, 
    John preaches wal," sez he; 
"But, sermon thru, an` come to du, 
    Why, there`s the old J. B. 
    A crowdin` you an` me!" 

Shall it be love, or hate, John? 
   It`s you thet`s to decide; 
Ain`t your bonds held by Fate, John, 
   Like all the world`s beside? 
    Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess 
    Wise men forgive," sez he, 
"But not forget; an` some time yet 
    Thet truth may strike J. B., 
    Ez wal ez you an` me!" 

God means to make this land, John, 
   Clear thru, from sea to sea, 
Believe an` understand, John, 
The wuth o` bein` free. 
   Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess, 
   God`s price is high," sez he; 
"But nothin` else than wut He sells 
   Wears long, an` thet J. B. 
   May larn, like you an` me!"
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