And sich pop-paws!—Lumps o’ raw
Gold and green,—jes oozy th’ough
With ripe yallar—like you’ve saw
Custard-pie with no crust to:
And jes gorges o’ wild plums
Till a feller’d suck his thumbs
Clean up to his elbows! My!—
Me some more er lem me die!
Up and down old Brandywine!...
Stripe me with pokeberry-juice!—