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gle was sick. He'd had too much physic of Abolition; The blood in his veins was hot and thick, The Eagle's pulse was fevered and quick, A thousand ways his feathers would stick, He was in a sad condition. They called a doctor to cure the bird: There came with the doctor General Scott. The voice of Sir Fuss and Feathers was heard-- He could not set by without saying a word, As the ire of the gallant old soldier was stirred! He proposed that the bird be shot. Loud rose the voice of Greeley and Seward! Many their words — we're sorry to lose them-- They told how the Eagle might be cured, Like a Duffield ham — and his life insured. Raymond and Bennett added a word, And they hid him in Abraham's bosom. Poor old Eagle, of Stars and Stripes, There was a nest for you, I said; At the very thought my eyes I wipe, Your talons I see take a firmer gripe. The stars fade away, but you feel the stripe-- Poor Eagle hangs down his head. Better the fate proposed by Scott; Perhaps not better, but full as w