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by [?]

Ben Bulger was a silver man,
Though not a mine had he:
He thought it were a noble plan
To make the coinage free.

“There hain’t for years been sech a time,”
Said Ben to his bull pup,
“For biz–the country’s broke and I’m
The hardest kind of up.

“The paper says that that’s because
The silver coins is sea’ce,
And that the chaps which makes the laws
Puts gold ones in their place.

“They says them nations always be
Most prosperatin’ where
The wolume of the currency
Ain’t so disgustin’ rare.”

His dog, which hadn’t breakfasted,
Dissented from his view,
And wished that he could swell, instead,
The volume of cold stew.

“Nobody’d put me up,” said Ben,
“With patriot galoots
Which benefits their feller men
By playin’ warious roots;

“But havin’ all the tools about,
I’m goin’ to commence
A-turnin’ silver dollars out
Wuth eighty-seven cents.

“The feller takin’ ’em can’t whine:
(No more, likewise, can I):
They’re better than the genooine,
Which mostly satisfy.

“It’s only makin’ coinage free,
And mebby might augment
The wolume of the currency
A noomerous per cent.”

I don’t quite see his error nor
Malevolence prepense,
But fifteen years they gave him for
That technical offense.