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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore). Search the whole document.

Found 8 total hits in 4 results.

Tunstall (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 13
9. the Despot's song. by old Secesh. With a beard that was filthy and red, His mouth with tobacco bespread, be Lincoln sat in the gay White House, A-wishing that he was dead. Swear! swear! swear! Till his tongue was blistered o'er; Then, in a voice not very strong, He slowly whined the Despot's song: Lie! lie! lie! I've lied like the very deuce! Lie! lie! lie! As long as lies were of use; But now that lies no longer pay, I know not where to turn; For when I the truth would say, My tongue with lies will burn I Drink! drink! drink! Till my lead feels very queer! Drink! drink! drink! Till I get rid of all fear! Brandy, and whiskey, and gin, Sherry, and champagne, and pop, I tipple, I guzzle, I suck 'em all in, Till down dead-drunk I drop. Think! think! think! Till my head is very sore! Think! think! think! Till I couldn't think any more! And it's oh! to be splitting of rails, Back in my Illinois hut; For now that every thing fails, I would of my office be “shut!” Jeff.!
Illinois (Illinois, United States) (search for this): chapter 13
swear! swear! Till his tongue was blistered o'er; Then, in a voice not very strong, He slowly whined the Despot's song: Lie! lie! lie! I've lied like the very deuce! Lie! lie! lie! As long as lies were of use; But now that lies no longer pay, I know not where to turn; For when I the truth would say, My tongue with lies will burn I Drink! drink! drink! Till my lead feels very queer! Drink! drink! drink! Till I get rid of all fear! Brandy, and whiskey, and gin, Sherry, and champagne, and pop, I tipple, I guzzle, I suck 'em all in, Till down dead-drunk I drop. Think! think! think! Till my head is very sore! Think! think! think! Till I couldn't think any more! And it's oh! to be splitting of rails, Back in my Illinois hut; For now that every thing fails, I would of my office be “shut!” Jeff.! Jeff.! Jeff.! To you as a suppliant I kneel! Jeff.! Jeff.! Jeff.! If you could my horrors feel, You'd submit at discretion, And kindly give in To all my oppression, My weakness and s
W. Sherry (search for this): chapter 13
that he was dead. Swear! swear! swear! Till his tongue was blistered o'er; Then, in a voice not very strong, He slowly whined the Despot's song: Lie! lie! lie! I've lied like the very deuce! Lie! lie! lie! As long as lies were of use; But now that lies no longer pay, I know not where to turn; For when I the truth would say, My tongue with lies will burn I Drink! drink! drink! Till my lead feels very queer! Drink! drink! drink! Till I get rid of all fear! Brandy, and whiskey, and gin, Sherry, and champagne, and pop, I tipple, I guzzle, I suck 'em all in, Till down dead-drunk I drop. Think! think! think! Till my head is very sore! Think! think! think! Till I couldn't think any more! And it's oh! to be splitting of rails, Back in my Illinois hut; For now that every thing fails, I would of my office be “shut!” Jeff.! Jeff.! Jeff.! To you as a suppliant I kneel! Jeff.! Jeff.! Jeff.! If you could my horrors feel, You'd submit at discretion, And kindly give in To all my oppressi
Abe Lincoln (search for this): chapter 13
9. the Despot's song. by old Secesh. With a beard that was filthy and red, His mouth with tobacco bespread, be Lincoln sat in the gay White House, A-wishing that he was dead. Swear! swear! swear! Till his tongue was blistered o'er; Then, in a voice not very strong, He slowly whined the Despot's song: Lie! lie! lie! I've lied like the very deuce! Lie! lie! lie! As long as lies were of use; But now that lies no longer pay, I know not where to turn; For when I the truth would say, My tongue with lies will burn I Drink! drink! drink! Till my lead feels very queer! Drink! drink! drink! Till I get rid of all fear! Brandy, and whiskey, and gin, Sherry, and champagne, and pop, I tipple, I guzzle, I suck 'em all in, Till down dead-drunk I drop. Think! think! think! Till my head is very sore! Think! think! think! Till I couldn't think any more! And it's oh! to be splitting of rails, Back in my Illinois hut; For now that every thing fails, I would of my office be “shut!” Jeff.!