Booth Killed Lincoln
By
Wilkes Booth came to Washington,
An actor great was he,
He played at Ford's Theater,
And Lincoln came to see.
It was early in April,
Not many weeks ago,
The people of this fair city
All gathered at the show.
The war it is all over,
The people happy now,
And Abraham Lincoln
Arose to take a bow;
The people cheer him wildly,
All rising to their feet,
And Lincoln waving of his hand,
He calmly takes his seat.
And as he sees the play go on,
His thoughts are running deep,
His darling wife, close by his side,
Has fallen fast asleep.
And from the box there hangs a flag,
It is not the Stars and Bars,
But the flag that holds within its folds
Bright gleaming Stripes and Stars.
J. Wilkes Booth walks down the aisle,
He had measured once before,
He passes Lincoln's bodyguard
A-nodding at the door.
He holds a dagger in his right hand,
A pistol in his left,
He shoots poor Lincoln in the temple,
And sends his soul to rest.
His wife awakes from slumber,
And screams all in her rage,
Booth jumps over the railing
And lands him on the stage.
He will rue the day, he'll rue the hour,
As God him life will give,
When Booth stands in the center stage,
Shouting, "Tyrants shall not live!"
The people all excited now,
Shout, "Everyone, a hand!"
The people who are nearest cry,
"For God's sake, take that man!"
But Booth runs back with boot and spur
Across the backstage floor.
He mounts that trusty claybank mare,
All saddled at the door.
J. Wilkes Booth, in his last play,
All dressed in broadcloth deep,
He gallops down the alleyway,
I hear them horses feet.
Poor Lincoln then was heard to say,
And all has gone to rest,
"Of all the actors in this town,
I loved Wilkes Booth the best."
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