"Quamdiu tandem abutere patientiae nostra?"

“Quamdiu Tandem Abutere Patientiæ Nostra? Ad Quem Finem Sese Jactabit Audacia?”

Come gentle Muse, give me your aid;
Sharp make my pen as Ashby’s blade!
That I may make a good selection,
Of rascals for this day’s dissection.

First Winfield Scott, is on our list,
But Gout has made him drop his fist;
For fuss and feathers, only famous,
He thinks by proxy, he can tame us,
Whenever Lincoln’s at a loss,
He quickly hies him to the “Boss!”
(For so he calls this prince of leaders,
This deadly foe of all seceeders!)
Who from his chair, scarce dares to move;
Lest his foot for his feathers, too weak should prove!

McClellan from Ohio next boldly rushes forth,
And leaves the “Central railway” to aid and help the North,
As fireman, brakesman, engineer, we make no doubt he’s good,
But o’er our Johnston “let him crow, when he gets through
the wood!”

Next rushes on with drunken leer,
That gross epitome of fear,
Bombastes Furioso Butler, named;
For lies and boasting justly famed,
Major General is his rank;
For which we heaven devoutly thank.

Now N. P. Banks from Mass.,
That lying, sneaking, cringing ass
Who forced “Codwolloper,” to yield
“Plug-town” to him and take the field,
“Jackson” Lincoln has our thanks,
For raising Natty from the ranks.

You coward Fremont now we see
Trying to fetter Old Missouri,
Your only gallant action won,
The daughter of poor T. H. Benton;
Your only bravery (draw it mild),
Robbed a father of his child:
In fights with Indians, who ran first?
Who is in Oregon so loudly cursed?
As J. C. Fremont the poltroon,
May he meet McCullough soon.

Now some satire we will try on
That Atheist Major General Lyon,
Who scoffs at heaven and at hell,
Yet knows that Satan loves him well;
When he with his Dutchmen rushes forth
To aid and comfort the great (?) North,
Jackson’s men with exultation,
Well thrash this mark for execration.

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