91. King Cotton.
[after Beranger.]
by R. H. Stoddard.
See this new king who comes apace,And treats us like a conquered race;
He comes from Dixey's Land by rail,
His throne a ragged cotton-bale.
On to the White House straight
He's marching — rather late,
Clanking along the land,
The shackles in his hand.
Hats off! hats off!
Ye slaves, of curs begotten,
Hats off to great King Cotton!
White niggers, mudsills, Northern scum,
Base hirelings, hear me, and be dumb:
What makes this country great and free?
'Tis me, I tell you — only me!
Beware, then, of my might,
Nor dare dispute my right,
Or else you'll find, some day
There'll be the devil to pay!
Hats off! hats off!
Ye slaves, of curs begotten,
Hats off to great King Cotton!
Dare you dispraise my royal parts,
And prate of Freedom, Commerce, Arts?
What are they to my pedigree?
Why, Adam was an F. F. V.!
My arms, (a whip, ye fools,
Above a bloodhound, gules!)
Declare my house and birth--
The king of kings on earth!
Hats off! hats off!
Ye slaves, of curs begotten,
Hats off to great King Cotton!
Paupers, who can resist me? None!
My wife's a pew in Washington;
My youngest son — he looks like me--
Will be in Congress soon, (S. C.）
His brother, Colonel Fuss,
Trained up by old U. S.,
Tore down your dirty flag--
A General, now, with Bragg!
Hats off! hats off!
Ye slaves, of curs begotten,
Hats off to great King Cotton!
Let us alone, ye Federal crew,
Nor dare collect our revenue;
For gentlemen, from earliest date
Were never useful to the State.
Thanks to my forts, and guns,
And arsenals, (yours, once!)
I can now speak my mind,
As Ancient Abe shall find!
Hats off! hats off!
Ye slaves, of curs begotten,
Hats off to great King Cotton!
God's ministers, we fight for you:
Aid us, ye aid the Gospel too.
For you, beast-people, (clear the track!)
Still bear our saddles on your back!
We'll ride you all your lives;
Your daughters, too, and wives,
Shall serve us in our need,
And teach our girls to read!
Hats off! hats off!
Ye slaves, of curs begotten,
Hats off to great King Cotton!
Your musket, chaplain--(mind my toes!)
The smoke is incense in my nose!
On them, Confederates, great and small!
Down with the Union--death to all!
From my brave ancestry,
These rights descend to me,
And all true Southern men,
World without end. Amen.
Hats off! hats off!
Ye slaves, of curs begotten,
Hats off to great King Cotton!
May 26, 1861.
--Vanity Fair.
