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322
AN HONEST BALLAD TO JOHN BULL,
[Per MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER,]
In reply to a “LOVING BALLAD TO BROTHER JONATHAN;”
Martin Farquhar Tupper, the worthy author
of “Proverbial Philosophy,” (an elongation, but
no improvement, of old George Herbert's treatment
of the same subject,) has, on several occasions,
been pleased to patronize and encourage
this modest country of ours, in her efforts “to
get along.” Among other “flattering notices”
was the “Loving Ballad” above mentioned, a
few verses from which are here appended—to
mark the gist of the rejoinder:—
“Ho, Brother! I'm a Britisher,
A chip of heart of oak.
That would'nt warp, or swerve, or stir,
From what I thought or spoke:
And you a blunt and honest man,
Straightforward, kind, and true!
I tell you. Brother Jonathan,
That you're a Briton, too!
“God save the Queen” delights you still,
And “British Grenadiers;”
The good old strains your heart-strings thrill,
And hold you by both ears:
And we—O hate us, if you can,
For we are proud of you—
We like you, Brother Jonathan,
And “Yankee Doodle,” too.
Time was—it was not long ago—
Your grandsires went with mine,
To battle traitors, blow for blow,
For England's royal line:
Or tripped to court to kiss Queen Anne,
Or worship royal Bess;
And you and I, good Jonathan,
Went with them then, I guess.
There lived a man, a man of men,
A king, on fancy's throne;
We ne'er shall see his like again,
The globe is all his own:
And if we claim him of our clan,
He half belongs to you;
For Shakespeare, happy Jonathan,
Is yours, and ours, too.
Add but your stripes and golden stars
To our St. George's Cross:
And never dream of mutual wars,
Two dunces' mutual loss:
Let us two bless, where others ban,
And love when others hate;
And so, my cordial Jonathan,
We'll fit, I calculate.”
From MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER.
Martin Farquhar Tupper, the worthy author of “Proverbial Philosophy,” (an elongation, but no improvement, of old George Herbert's treatment of the same subject,) has, on several occasions, been pleased to patronize and encourage this modest country of ours, in her efforts “to get along.” Among other “flattering notices” was the “Loving Ballad” above mentioned, a few verses from which are here appended—to mark the gist of the rejoinder:—
“Ho, Brother! I'm a Britisher,
A chip of heart of oak.
That would'nt warp, or swerve, or stir,
From what I thought or spoke:
And you a blunt and honest man,
Straightforward, kind, and true!
I tell you. Brother Jonathan,
That you're a Briton, too!
A chip of heart of oak.
That would'nt warp, or swerve, or stir,
From what I thought or spoke:
And you a blunt and honest man,
Straightforward, kind, and true!
I tell you. Brother Jonathan,
That you're a Briton, too!
“God save the Queen” delights you still,
And “British Grenadiers;”
The good old strains your heart-strings thrill,
And hold you by both ears:
And we—O hate us, if you can,
For we are proud of you—
We like you, Brother Jonathan,
And “Yankee Doodle,” too.
And “British Grenadiers;”
The good old strains your heart-strings thrill,
And hold you by both ears:
And we—O hate us, if you can,
For we are proud of you—
We like you, Brother Jonathan,
And “Yankee Doodle,” too.
Time was—it was not long ago—
Your grandsires went with mine,
To battle traitors, blow for blow,
For England's royal line:
Or tripped to court to kiss Queen Anne,
Or worship royal Bess;
And you and I, good Jonathan,
Went with them then, I guess.
Your grandsires went with mine,
To battle traitors, blow for blow,
For England's royal line:
Or tripped to court to kiss Queen Anne,
Or worship royal Bess;
And you and I, good Jonathan,
Went with them then, I guess.
There lived a man, a man of men,
A king, on fancy's throne;
We ne'er shall see his like again,
The globe is all his own:
And if we claim him of our clan,
He half belongs to you;
For Shakespeare, happy Jonathan,
Is yours, and ours, too.
A king, on fancy's throne;
We ne'er shall see his like again,
The globe is all his own:
And if we claim him of our clan,
He half belongs to you;
For Shakespeare, happy Jonathan,
Is yours, and ours, too.
Add but your stripes and golden stars
To our St. George's Cross:
And never dream of mutual wars,
Two dunces' mutual loss:
Let us two bless, where others ban,
And love when others hate;
And so, my cordial Jonathan,
We'll fit, I calculate.”
To our St. George's Cross:
And never dream of mutual wars,
Two dunces' mutual loss:
Let us two bless, where others ban,
And love when others hate;
And so, my cordial Jonathan,
We'll fit, I calculate.”
I'VE read your ballad, Johnny Bull!
A dozen times or more—
'Faith! at my heart it took a pull,
That drew me “half-seas o'er;”
I felt the “Anglo-Saxon” run
Through neck, and cheek, and forehead:
I might have been your shadow, John!
I grew so very florid.
A dozen times or more—
'Faith! at my heart it took a pull,
That drew me “half-seas o'er;”
I felt the “Anglo-Saxon” run
Through neck, and cheek, and forehead:
I might have been your shadow, John!
I grew so very florid.
It sort o' tickled me, I own,
To read sich printed praise:
Sez I, old Johnny 's cuter grown
In these his latter days.
I calculated all was true,
And jist as good as preachin',
Because, friend John! you know that tew
Can play at over-reachin'.
To read sich printed praise:
Sez I, old Johnny 's cuter grown
In these his latter days.
I calculated all was true,
And jist as good as preachin',
Because, friend John! you know that tew
Can play at over-reachin'.
323
But still it sort o' puzzled me,
To think how, all at once,
Sich virtoos in a chap you see,
You used to call a dunce
It's surely but the other day,
You asked, with scornful look,
“Who heeds a Yankee journal, pray?
Who reads a Yankee book?”
To think how, all at once,
Sich virtoos in a chap you see,
You used to call a dunce
It's surely but the other day,
You asked, with scornful look,
“Who heeds a Yankee journal, pray?
Who reads a Yankee book?”
O! Johnny Bull! O! Johnny Bull!
It's really grown too late
Of brotherhood so beautiful
'Twixt you and me to prate.
A Cain-like chap you'd proved, I ween,
Had you disabled us—
A brother Remus we'd have been,
And you our Romulus!
It's really grown too late
Of brotherhood so beautiful
'Twixt you and me to prate.
A Cain-like chap you'd proved, I ween,
Had you disabled us—
A brother Remus we'd have been,
And you our Romulus!
Our friendship, John! you might have won,
(Pre-haps have gained our love,)
When we were but an eaglet, John!
And gentle as a dove.
But you were vicious, then, and tried
To clip our growing wings:
Your brother didn't like sich pride,
And didn't b'lieve in kings!
(Pre-haps have gained our love,)
When we were but an eaglet, John!
And gentle as a dove.
But you were vicious, then, and tried
To clip our growing wings:
Your brother didn't like sich pride,
And didn't b'lieve in kings!
324
Your “British Granny-Dears,” good John!
We often recollect!
They journeyed once through Lexington,
Quite gaily, I suspect.
And “Yankee Doodle” 's liked as well,
I doubt it not, by you, John!—
At Yorktown on your ears it fell,
And Saratoga, too, John!
We often recollect!
They journeyed once through Lexington,
Quite gaily, I suspect.
And “Yankee Doodle” 's liked as well,
I doubt it not, by you, John!—
At Yorktown on your ears it fell,
And Saratoga, too, John!
It may have been, as now you sing,
That our old English sires
Have battled for some tyrant king,
Or lit his Smithfield fires:
It may have been that sires o' mine
Have bent the vassal's knee, John!
But from the boast o' sich a line,
Good Lord deliver me, John!
That our old English sires
Have battled for some tyrant king,
Or lit his Smithfield fires:
It may have been that sires o' mine
Have bent the vassal's knee, John!
But from the boast o' sich a line,
Good Lord deliver me, John!
Thank God! that Shakspeare lived and sung!
For Milton, Heaven be praised!
The flame from out their spirits flung
Through all the world has blazed.
Right glad are we that English birth
For souls like these you claim, John:
But recollect that all the earth
Is narrow for their fame, John!
For Milton, Heaven be praised!
The flame from out their spirits flung
Through all the world has blazed.
Right glad are we that English birth
For souls like these you claim, John:
But recollect that all the earth
Is narrow for their fame, John!
325
We shared your glorious days, good John!
But, oh! we're modest now!
We don't lay claim to aught that's done
In present years, I trow.
We beg to be excused from fame
Through China or Bengal, John!
And thank you not to use our name,
When Ireland you recall, John!
But, oh! we're modest now!
We don't lay claim to aught that's done
In present years, I trow.
We beg to be excused from fame
Through China or Bengal, John!
And thank you not to use our name,
When Ireland you recall, John!
Pre-haps, good Johnny! by and by,
When kings are obsolete,
And soldiers thrown like rubbish by,
And sceptres under feet;
When laws of corn, and laws of game,
And tithings are no more, John!
When Ireland isn't England's shame,
And India isn't sore, John!
When kings are obsolete,
And soldiers thrown like rubbish by,
And sceptres under feet;
When laws of corn, and laws of game,
And tithings are no more, John!
When Ireland isn't England's shame,
And India isn't sore, John!
When starving men have gained their own,
And lords and dukes are sparse;
When ballot-boxes rule the throne,
And pauper-soup is scarce,—
When England's noble peasantry,
And England's laboring men, John!
In soul and limb are glad and free—
We'll call you “Brother,” then, John!
And lords and dukes are sparse;
When ballot-boxes rule the throne,
And pauper-soup is scarce,—
When England's noble peasantry,
And England's laboring men, John!
In soul and limb are glad and free—
We'll call you “Brother,” then, John!
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