11. song on Gen. Scott.
by N. B. J****.
tune--“Poor Old Horse, Let Him Die.” Virginia had a son,Who gathered up some fame;
He many battles won,
And thereby won a name;
But now he's growing old,
And nature doth decay,
Virginia she does scold,
And all can hear her say,
Poor old Scott, let him die.
He is old, and very mean, sir;
He is dull, and very slow;
And it can now be seen, sir,
He still does meaner grow;
He is not fit to fight,
Nor will he ever pray;
Then kick him out of sight,
And let Virginia say,
Poor old Scott, let him die.
The sound of his war-whoop
No one again will hear;
In dread laps he his hasty soup,
With hell-fire in his rear;
I had rather be a hog,
And wallow in the mud,
Than be old Lincoln's dog,
Or be his warrior stud.
Poor old Scott, let him die.
I had rather be a dog,
And bay the stars and moon;
I had sooner be a frog,
With a dungeon for my doom,
Than to be poor old Scott,
To fill a traitor's grave,
And there in silence rot,
Without a soul to save.
Poor old Scott, let him die.
--Richmond Dispatch, Aug. 27.