But this landscape a kind
Er flickers—I 'low 'twuz the po'try—
I thought thet my eyes hed gone blind.
* * * * *
Take that pop from my belt!
Hi, thar—gimme yer han'—
Or I'll kill myself—Lizzie!—she's left me—
Gone off with a purtier man!
Thar, I'll quit—the ole gal
An' the kids—run away!