Classic Poem

(SIMPSON'S BAR, 1858)

So you've kem 'yer agen,
And one answer won't do?
Well, of all the demed men
That I've struck, it is you
O Sall " yer's that demed fool from Simpson's, cavortin" round 'yer in the dew.

Kem in, ef you WILL.
Thar, — quit! Take a cheer
Not that; you can't fill
Them theer cushings this year, —
For that cheer was my old man's, Joe Simpson, and they don't make

Such men about 'yer.
He was tall, was my Jack,
And as strong as a tree
Thar's his gun on the rack, —
Jest you heft it, and see.
And YOU come a courtin' his widder! Lord! where can that critter, Sal, be!

You'd fill my Jack's place?
And a man of your size, —
With no baird to his face,
Nor a snap to his eyes,
And nary — Sho! thar! I was foolin', — I was, Joe, for sartain, — don't rise.

Sit down Law! why, sho!
I'm as weak as a gal
Sall Don't you go, Joe,
Or I'll faint, — sure, I shall.
Sit down, — ANYWHEER, where you like, Joe, — in that cheer, if you
choose, — Lord! where's Sal?