human
Ho! brother, I'm a Britisher, A chip of heart of oak, That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir From what I thought or spoke; And you--a blunt and honest man, Straightforward, kind, and true, I tell you, brother Jonathan, That you're a Briton too!
gpt
Ye Thirty Noble Nations, and is remarkable for this strange fact, viz., that I composed about the half of those eighteen eight-line stanzas in a semi-slumber. I was as I thought asleep, but I got out of bed and pencilled the ballad (or most of it, for I added and amended afterwards) straight off, and went to bed again, of course to sleep profoundly; when I got up next morning and found the MS. on my table, it seemed like a dream, but it wasn't. Those who are curious may look out this piece of
human
Ye thirty noble Nations Confederate in one, That keep your starry stations Around the Western sun,-- I have a glorious mission, And must obey the call, A claim!--and a petition! To set before you all.
gpt
Thirty Nations