“Killin’ a man was atwixt yerselves,”
But to go for his pile meant death.
When he found that the buoys were dead on “kill,”
Joe came for’ard an’ giv’ hisself up,
“You’ll settle my hash with a leaden pill,”
Ses he—“Don’t string me up like a pup!”
Openin’ his shirt, and slappin’ his breast—
“Here’s lodgings to let for a slug!”—
They fired, an’ Potiphar’s pride lay at rest,
Stiff an’ stark, with a smile on his mug!