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the way there, Jonathan! Way for the President's marshal! Way for the government
 * cannon!

Way for the federal foot and dragoons—and the apparitions
 * copiously tumbling.

I rose this morning early, to get betimes in Boston
 * town,

Here's a good place at the corner, I must stand and
 * see the show.

I love to look on the stars and stripes, I hope the fifes
 * will play Yankee Doodle.

How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops! Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through
 * Boston town.

A fog follows—antiques of the same come limping, Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear bandaged
 * and bloodless. Rh