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Christy's plantation melodies. 69
—de " Egyptian Pyramids," at de summit ob de walley ob de inexcusable Alps—dese was dem berry dientical words—" It will neber do to gib it up so, Mr. Brown!"
Sogers. Hurrah !
Julius. What made him call Napoleon Mr. Brown?
Brown. 'Case, 'cordin' to de best transplanters ob de Hitalian, Mr. Brown is short for Bonaparte.
Julius. Yes, yes, dat's a fact—
Brown. Brudder sogers — to perpetrate de wrords ob Sergeant Rolla—my brave associates—partners in my songs, my banjo and my bones — can Jim Brown's words add wigor to de energies which surprise your hearts ?
All. No! Dem oder chaps follow (when dey don't absquatulate) a leader what dey doesn't like—we serbe a general we adore. Tell Santa Anna this, and tell him too, we want no change * from him,' (case if we did, he ain't got none to gib us)—so we will call de roll, and put it down to his account.
I am a scienced darkie, my name's Jim Brown, I used to play de banjo all around de town. I heard de foe was sassy, and went to lend a hand, And instead of musicianers, I led a fighting band. I heard de bullets whistle, so I cut de gunner down, And ail de boys dey hollered out, "Dat chap's done Brown!"
I fought at Buena Vista, on the well-remembered day, When Columbia lost her noble son, the daring Colonel
Clay. With glory crowned, he nobly died, and gallantly he
fell; While few of dose who butchered him, were left the
tale to tell— A bullet from a steady aim, laid half a dozen down, And p'raps dat musket wasn't owned by ole Jim
I was down to Sarah Gordo, 1 shan't forget de day— Twas de one when Santa Anna, like a hero, run away