I like such Brooks," said Falstaff once;

Had he meant ours he'd been a dunce;

The devil, whom all things evil please,

Could never stand such Bruoks as these.

In the Tyrol on mountain high

"The Devil's Marble" you may spy;

And if in the World you long remain,

You'll probably meet the same again.

Och, Johnny, my gun—let the truth be aid,

What the divil made ye turn Copperhid?

Sure it was hivvy what ye bore,

Wid the brass in your face yees had before.

There's a song how Old Nick took a journey,

With a corporation attorney;

But there is one fouler, whom even the old prowler

Would fear as a friend on a journey.

1.

"The man who made that order," said

Judge B. in court, "was a meat-head."

Oh what a head that head would be,

Just meted Judge, to match with thee!

2.

"Just roll that nigger out of court!"

The Judge exclaimed with solemn port;

"I tell you very truly now,

Nigs at the bar I won't allow!"

At a Copperhead meeting the crier

Paused an instant to hear his gun fire;

The cannon was loaded, and when it exploded,

Said he—"List to the voice of our sire!"

There was old party named M———,

Who went from bad doctrines to worse.

If at law he should see his name prefaced by re,

It will show what he should feel; this M———.

There was a small Cozening shyster;

Said he, "Every case is an eyester;

Give the parties the shells if you can, and nought else,

Unless the Court tips you a hi-ster."

There's a man at the Bar who, we know,

Is in politics terribly low;

For he keeps in the clubs the secessional cubs,

Who in propria persona can't go.

There's a very bad-minis-trator,

A trÈs petite pomme de tater,

Who tears feelings to rags, presenting of flags;

This oily old adminis-traitor.

There's a wide-awake Copperhead cratur',

Who is Eli by name and by natur';

Displaying for one neither fashion nor ton,

This un-national nativist traitor.