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King Scare.

The monarch that reigns in the warlike North
An't Lincoln at all, I ween;
But old King Scare, with his thin, fast legs,
And his long sword in between;
The world has not for many a day
Seen merrier king or lord;
But some declare, in a playful way,
Scare should not wear a sword.
Yes, I have heard, upon my word,
And seen in prose and rhyme,
That if old Scare no sword would wear,
He'd make much better time.

I cannot tell why he put it on,
Nor tell where he got the heart,
But guess he intended it all for fun,
And not for a tragedy part;
But well made up with his togs and wear-
With his boots, and sword, and gun-
Not one of us knew it was old King Scare
Till we saw the monarch run.
It did us good to see him scud,
And put the miles behind him;
His friends now say: “Put your sword away!”
But old Scare doesn't mind 'em.

He is ruler of twenty terrible States,
With ships and soldiers and tin;
But the State that all of these outrates
Is the terrible state he is in--
With just nowhere for his ships to move,
With his tin most terribly rare,
With his soldiers on every field to prove
True subjects of old King Scare.
The English Times and Punch in rhymes
Both say the Republic's nil;
That after the war, just as before,
Scare will be despot still.

Scare rides a horse in his “own countrie,”
And a high horse rides King Scare,
And a mighty host in his train there be
Who no gun nor falchion wear;
Now these be the freedom-shriekers bold
Who keep off the war-gine's track,
Who shut on the white race dungeon-doors,
And send “braves” to steal the black.
For abolition is but a mission
Of white-skinned niggers, to pray
And steal, and make the blacks they take
As free and as mean as they.

This monarch Scare is imperious quite,
And he loves to swear and chafe
At the “rebel” foe that, in every fight,
He can always run from-safe;
And all his gazettes in great round words
His “brave volunteers” bepraise,
Whom Scare drives up against “rebel” swords,
And the swords drive otherways.
Thus into battle, driven like cattle,
Come his “brave volunteers,”
When from the fight, with all their might,
Each gallantly — disappears.

Hurrah for the land of old Scare, then-
Hurrah for the Yankee land!
What a grand old war were this if their men
Could only be made to stand;
How the guns would roar, and the steel would ring,
And the souls up to heaven would flare,
If all the Yankees had now for king
Old Courage, and not old Scare.
But never they that lie and pray,
And steal and murder too,
Have pluck to fight, for only the Right
Is the soldier to dare and do.


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