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James Russell Lowell - The Debate In The Sennit
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SOT TO A NUSRY RHYME

`Here we stan` on the Constitution, by thunder!
  It`s a fact o` wich ther`s bushils o` proofs;
Fer how could we trample on `t so, I wonder,
  Ef `t worn`t thet it`s ollers under our hoofs?`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he:--
      `Human rights haint no more
      Right to come on this floor,
    No more `n the man in the moon,` sez he.

`The North haint no kind o` bisness with nothin,`
  An` you`ve no idee how much bother it saves;      
We aint none riled by their frettin` an` frothin`,
  We`re _used_ to layin` the string on our slaves,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      Sez Mister Foote,
      `I should like to shoot
    The holl gang, by the gret horn spoon!` sez he.

`Freedom`s Keystone is Slavery, thet ther`s no doubt on,
  It`s sutthin` thet`s--wha` d` ye call it?--divine,--
An` the slaves thet we ollers _make_ the most out on
  Air them north o` Mason an` Dixon`s line,`      
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      `Fer all that,` sez Mangum,
      ``Twould be better to hang `em
    An` so git red on `em soon,` sez he.

`The mass ough` to labor an` we lay on soffies,
  Thet`s the reason I want to spread Freedom`s aree;
It puts all the cunninest on us in office,
  An` reelises our Maker`s orig`nal idee,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      `Thet`s ez plain,` sez Cass,      
      `Ez thet some one`s an ass,
    It`s ez clear ez the sun is at noon,` sez he.

`Now don`t go to say I`m the friend of oppression,
  But keep all your spare breath fer coolin` your broth,
Fer I ollers hev strove (at least thet`s my impression)
  To make cussed free with the rights o` the North,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      `Yes,` sez Davis o` Miss.,
      `The perfection o` bliss
    Is in skinnin` thet same old coon,` sez he.      

`Slavery`s a thing thet depends on complexion,
  It`s God`s law thet fetters on black skins don`t chafe;
Ef brains wuz to settle it (horrid reflection!)
  Wich of our onnable body `d be safe?`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      Sez Mister Hannegan,
      Afore he began agin,
    `Thet exception is quite oppertoon,` sez he.

`Gennle Cass, Sir, you needn`t be twitchin` your collar,
  _Your_ merit`s quite clear by the dut on your knees,      
At the North we don`t make no distinctions o` color;
  You can all take a lick at our shoes wen you please,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      Sez Mister Jarnagin,
      `They wun`t hev to larn agin,
    They all on `em know the old toon,` sez he.

`The slavery question aint no ways bewilderin,`
  North an` South hev one int`rest, it`s plain to a glance;
No`thern men, like us patriarchs, don`t sell their childrin,
  But they _du_ sell themselves, ef they git a good chance,`      
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      Sez Atherton here,
      `This is gittin` severe,
    I wish I could dive like a loon,` sez he.

`It`ll break up the Union, this talk about freedom,
  An` your fact`ry gals (soon ez we split) `ll make head,
An` gittin` some Miss chief or other to lead `em,
  `ll go to work raisin` permiscoous Ned,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      `Yes, the North,` sez Colquitt,      
      `Ef we Southeners all quit,
    Would go down like a busted balloon,` sez he.

`Jest look wut is doin`, wut annyky`s brewin`
  In the beautiful clime o` the olive an` vine,
All the wise aristoxy`s atumblin` to ruin,
  An` the sankylots drorin` an` drinkin` their wine,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      `Yes,` sez Johnson, `in France
      They`re beginnin` to dance
    Beelzebub`s own rigadoon,` sez he.       

`The South`s safe enough, it don`t feel a mite skeery,
  Our slaves in their darkness an` dut air tu blest
Not to welcome with proud hallylugers the ery
  Wen our eagle kicks yourn from the naytional nest,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      `Oh,` sez Westcott o` Florida,
      `Wut treason is horrider
    Then our priv`leges tryin` to proon?` sez he.

`It`s `coz they`re so happy, thet, wen crazy sarpints
  Stick their nose in our bizness, we git so darned riled;      
We think it`s our dooty to give pooty sharp hints,
  Thet the last crumb of Edin on airth sha`n`t be spiled,`
    Sez John C. Calhoun, sez he;--
      `Ah,` sez Dixon H. Lewis,
      `It perfectly true is
    Thet slavery`s airth`s grettest boon,` sez he.
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