He always wears a "buttonhole," and in a huge carnation
Of hideous hue 'twixt green and blue finds special delectation.
He has a language of his own which he elects to talk in;
He cuts his final g's and speaks of shootin', huntin', walkin';
With slipshod phrase and hybrid slang his speeches fairly bristle,
And vulgarisms "smart" he loves as donkeys love a thistle.
He'll lay "a hunderd pound," or say "he ain't," quite uncompunctive;
He systematically spurns the use of the subjunctive.
He knows "how the best people talk," and quite ignores the clamour
Of any "dash'd low nonsense," such as euphony and grammar.