Classic Poem

The crossest man in Glosterkonk,
Without no doubt, is Dr. Bronk.
Ol' Dr. Bronk hez got a jaw
That's firmer than the morril law,
An' Dr. Bronk hez got a frown
That purty nearly knocks ye down.
Gee! he is sot an' stiff an' tough,
An' made of linkum vity stuff.
W'en he comes in a sick room he
Kicks up etarnal bobbery;
He jaws because the air's too het,
An' 'cause he finds the winders shet;
He's jest ez like to scold ez not
'Cause the cold water is too hot;
An' then, nex' minute, he will scold
'Cause the hot water is too cold.
He scares the women from their wits,
An' gives the nurse conniption fits;
An' w'en he's there they want to die,
An' w'en he's gone they set an' cry.
But we love Dr. Bronk, we do;
For Dr. Bronk pulled Todlum through.

But there are few in Glosterkonk
Who waste much love on Dr. Bronk,
For even gentle Elder Priest
Says he is savage as a beast;
An' Abram Murch an' Hiram Howe
Say they wouldn' hev him to a cow;
An' that good soul, A'nt Hester Pratt,
Sez she wouldn' hev him to a cat,
Wouldn' hev the pesky critter nigh
Onless she wished the cat to die.
“Ol' vinegar is honeycomb
Compared to him,” said Deacon Home.
“A bear's a gentleman,” said Jim,
“A gentleman compared to him.”
Wall, maybe all these things are true,
But Bronk, he pulled our Todlum through.

Young Todlum he was very sick,
An' we got smilin' Dr. Dick;
He tol' us 'twas no use to try;
A hopeless case; the child mus' die.
“Git Dr. Brown!” my wife she cried.
He came; the child had almost died.
“No use,” said Dr. Brown. “Too late!
No use, good friends, to fight with fate.”
An' then my wife she turned to me,
“Run quick an' git ol' Bronk!” said she.
An' ol' Bronk came. How he did swear
About the closeness of the air;
Threw off three quilts upon the floor,
An' bellered out, “Don't shet that door!”
He sent us flyin' here an' there,
An' everything we did he'd swear.
He kept us in a tremblin' plight,
For everything we did warn't right.
But we held in—didn' make a sound—
An' let the ol' bear thunder 'round.
He kept us jumpin' all night long,
An' everything we did was wrong.

At daylight Todlum gave a groan,
A still, faint, awful kind o' moan!
“He's going! He's going!” my wife she cried,
An' fell down sobbin' at his side.
“Don't bawl so, woman; can't yer see
Yer cub is goin' to live,” sez he.
Todlum looked up, the blessed child!
Into his mother's face an' smiled.
“Don't make sich thunderin' hullabaloo,”
Said Bronk, “I've pulled the rascal through.”

“Don't make such thunderin' hullabaloo;
Get up! I've pulled yer rascal through.”
The sweetest words that ever rung
From any seraph angel's tongue
Were not so sweet as these he said
While we were standin' roun' that bed.
My wife she threw her arms around
That ol' bear's neck with one glad bound;
Her face was in his whiskers hid,
She hugged an' kissed him—yes, she did!
The sweetest words we ever heard,
Although, I guess it soun's absurd,
Were just them words that ol' Bronk said
While we were standin' roun' that bed:
“Don't make sich thunderin' hullabaloo,
Get up! I've pulled yer rascal through.”