A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE.

JOHN BULL, Esquire, my jo John,

When we were first acquent,

You acted very much as now
You act about the Trent.
You stole my bonny sailors, John,
My bonny ships also,

You 're aye the same fierce beast to me,
John Bull, Esquire, my jo!

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,
Since we were linked together,
Full many a jolly fight, John,

We've had with one another.

Now must we fight again, John?
Then at it let us go!

And God will help the honest heart,
John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,

A century has gone by,

Since you called me your slave, John,

Since I at you let fly.

You want to fight it out again

That war of waste and woe;

You'll find me much the same old coon,
John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,
If lying loons have told
That I have lost my pluck, John,
And fight not as of old;
You'd better not believe it, John,

Nor scorn your ancient foe;

333

53

TO ENGLISHMEN.

For I've seen weaker days than this,
John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,
Hear this my language plain :
I never smote you unprovoked,
I never smote in vain.

If you want peace, peace let it be!
If war, be pleased to know,
Shots in my locker yet remain,
John Bull, Esquire, my jo!

TO ENGLISHMEN.

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

You flung your taunt across the wave,
We bore it as became us,

Well knowing that the fettered slave
Left friendly lips no option, save
To pity or to blame us.

You scoffed our plea. "Mere lack of will,
Not lack of power," you told us ;
We showed our Free-State records; still
You mocked, confounding good and ill,
Slave haters and slave holders.

We struck at Slavery; to the verge

Of power and means we checked it;
Lo! - presto, change! its claims you urge,
Send greetings to it o'er the surge,
And comfort and protect it.

But yesterday you scarce could shake,
In slave-abhorring rigor,

Our Northern palms for conscience' sake:

To-day you clasp the hands that ache
With "walloping the nigger!"

O Englishmen !— in hope and creed,
In blood and tongue our brothers!
We too are heirs of Runnymede;
And Shakspeare's fame and Cromwell's deed
Are not alone our mother's.

"Thicker than water," in one rill
Through centuries of story

Our Saxon blood has flowed, and still
We share with you its good and ill,
The shadow and the glory.

Joint heirs and kinfolk, leagues of wave
Nor length of years can part us;
Your right is ours to shrine and grave
The common freehold of the brave,
The gift of saints and martyrs.

Our very

sins and follies teach

Our kindred frail and human : We carp at faults with bitter speech, The while for one unshared by each We have a score in common.

We bow the heart, if not the knee,

To England's Queen, God bless her! We praised you when your slaves went free:

We seek to unchain ours.

Will ye

Join hands with the oppressor?

And is it Christian England cheers
The bruiser, not the bruised?

And must she run, despite the tears
And prayers of eighteen hundred years,
A-muck in Slavery's crusade?

THE “TIMES" ON AMERICAN AFFAIRS. 55

O black disgrace! O shame and loss
Too deep for tongue to phrase on!

Tear from your flag its holy cross,
And in your van of battle toss

The pirate's skull-bone blazon!

JOHN BULL Vos a-valkin' his parlor von day,
Ha-fixin' the vorld wery much 'is hown vay,
Ven igstrawnary news cum from hover the sea,
Habout the great country vot brags it is free.

- vell,

Hand these vos the tidins this news it did tell,
That great Yankee Doodle vos going to
That ee vos a-volloped by Jefferson D.,
Hand no longer "some punkins" vos likely to be.

John Bull, slyly vinkin', then said hunto me:
“My dear Times, my hold covey, go pitch hinto ee;
Let us vollop great Doodle now ven 'e is down;
Hif ve vollops him vell, ve vill'do 'im up brown.'

"'Is long-legged boots hat my 'ed 'e 'as 'urled,
I'd raither not see 'em a-trampin' the vorld;
Hand I howe him a grudge for 'is conduct so wile,
In himportin' shillalahs from Erin's green hile.

"I knows Jefferson D. is a rascally chap,
Who goes hin for cribbin' the Guvurnment pap;
That Hexeter 'All may be down upon me,
But as Jeff. 'as the cotton, I'll cotton to ee.

"I cares for the blacks not a drat more nor ee, Though on principle I goes for settin' 'em free;

But hinterest, my cove, we must look hafter now,
Unless principle yields, it are poor anyhow."

So spoke Johnny Bull, so ee spake hunto me,
Hand I 'inted slyly to Jefferson D.,

Who, very much pleased, rubbed 'is 'ands in 'is joy, Hand exclaimed: "You 're the man for my money, old boy.

"Go in, Johnny Times! I will feather your nest;
Never mind if you soil it, 'tis foul at the best;
Strange guests have been thar, but my cotton is clean,
And a cargo is yourn, if you manage it keen."

So I pitched hinto Doodle like a thousan' of brick, -
May'ap it warn't proper to do it -

on tick,

But John Bull is almighty, he'll see I am paid,
And my cargo of cotton will break the blockade.

PART SECOND.

So Bull ee vent hin the blockade for to bust ;

The Christians they cried, and the sinners they cuss'd; There vos blowin', and blusterin', and mighty parade, And hall to get ready to break the blockade.

Ven hall hof a sudden it come in the 'ed
Hof a prudent hold covey, who up and 'e said:
"Hit's bad to vant cotton, but worser by far,
His the sufferin' hand misery you'll make by a war.

"There 'is cotton in Hingy, Peru, and Assam,
Guayaquil and Jamaica, Canton, Surinam ;
'Arf a loaf, or 'arf cotton, tight papers hi call,
But a 'ole var hentire his the devil and hall."

So he sent not 'is vessel hacross the broad sea,
Vich vos hawful 'ard lines for poor Jefferson D.,