Thet Washinton's mantelpiece fell
upo n Polk. Now all o' these blessins the Wigs might enjoy, Ef they 'd

gumption enough the right means to imploy;[14]
Fer the silver spoon born in Dermocracy's mouth Is a kind of a scringe thet they hev to the
South; Their masters can cuss 'em an' kick 'em an' wale 'em,
An' they notice it less 'an the ass did to Balaam; In this way they screw into second-rate offices Wich

the slaveholder thinks 'ould substract too much off his ease; The file-leaders, I mean, du, fer they, by their wiles, Unlike the old viper, grow fat on their files. Wal, the Wigs hev been tryin' to grab all this