The Daily Union

Prophet of the Higher Law.

Boiling: A gloomy cavern, with a burning cauldron in the centre, round which various figures—some in rags, and some in tags, and some in velvet gowns—are chanting and throwing in their contributions.

Throw the constitution in,
Imp of Satan brood of sin—
Outrage on God's and Nature's rules—
Idol of democrats and fools:
Let it shrivel, let it burn,
While round and round and round we turn.

"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble—"

Garrison, Wright, Phillips, and others.
Threw the Bible with it, too!
Only writ in wicked sew
Away with that old barrn cheat;
It has become quite obsolete—
The scoff of each enlightened mind,
The present age it lags behind:
Like some old hobbling, stone blind shrew,
That ne'er one blink of daylight knew,
Groping her way, with crutch and dog,
Through thicket, hedge, or quivering bog.
Away with that old dusty skull,
The higher law's enough for all.

"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble."

Trio of Senators.
In with the Nebraska bill,
Spit upon it he that will;
What though I keep the oath we've sworn—
Such wicked oaths we laugh to scorn;
Thrust it in the Devil's maw—
Our only law's the higher law;
The only binding oaths we swear
Among the faithful—you know where.
In with that other imp of evil,
That barefaced "compact with the Devil".
That slave law, which we all eschew,
As law-abiding men should do.
Throw a double dose of cant,
A hail-storm of loud-roaring rant,
Sprinkle some drops of smoking blood
That through Batchelder's veins once flow'd;
Then throw o'er all, that some may see,
The cloak of rare hypocrisy,
That hides a multitude of sins,
And in a fusion always wins
Now the charm is firm and strong,
Join us in a parting song:

"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble."

Prophet of the Higher Law.

"O, well done! I commend your pains,
AND EVERY ONE SHALL SHARE ITS GAINS."

Now go, and out of this confusion
We make, my boys, a glorious fusion.
For me, I must not seem your man,
As that would mar my secret plan,
And ope the eyes of southern gulls,
Although they seem as blind as bats,
And think, good souls, we've joined the lists
To fight the abolitionists!

We've cheated them ten times before:
Please God, we'll cheat them ten times more,
And make them league with those whose aim
Is their own rule, blight, and shame.
Go forth! keep up the hue and cry;
In such a cause 'tis truth to lie;
The end being good, the means are good,
Even though thro' perjury and blood:—
To free the negroes were great gain,
Though all their masters should be slain.
But mark me, friends, though 'gainst the law
Your duty 'tis the dirk to draw,
You'll understand, as men of sense,
We do not counsel violence;
I am a law abiding man,
And must obey it—when I can
Without a breach of higher law,
From which I all my precept draw.
Go, then, sweet friends, and play the devil;
But, then, you must be very civil;
And when you've set the house on fire,
Like honest men to bed retire,
Leaving the fools you've got in trouble
To stand the bursting of the bubble.
Mount you broomsticks, downward sail,
"And, like a rat without a tail,
We'll do, we'll do, we'll do"
Cock a-doodle-doo! (Cock crows.)
Hark! the tell-tale morn is nigh
That must not our dark orgies spy
Put out the lights, put out the fire,
And to your burrows quick retire;
Dive deep, that near my eye your wake,
Or hear the secret oaths you take
Be blind as moles their way that ply,
Unseen by any mortal eye,
And nothing know, and nothing tell;
And—O, sweet friends, awhile farewell;
I go the southern gulls to wheedle
With tweedle dum and tweedle-deedle.

Exeunt omnes.