THE BRIDGE
Plain proof her cause ain't strong,—
The one thet fust gits mad's most ollers wrong.
THE MONIMENT.
You're ollers quick to set your back aridge,—
Though't suits a tom-cat more 'n a sober bridge:
Don't you git het: they thought the thing was planned;
They'll cool off when they come to understand.
THE BRIDGE
Ef thet's wilt you expect, you'll hev to wait:
Folks never understand the folks they hate:
She'll fin' some other grievance jest ez good,
'Fore the month's out, to git misunderstood.
England cool off! She'll do it, ef she sees
She's run her head into a swarm o' bees.
I ain't so prejudiced ez wut you spose:
I hev thought England was the best thet goes;
Remember, (no, you can't,) when I was reared,
God save the King was all the tune you heerd:
But it's enough to turn Wachuset roun',
This stumpin' fellers when you think they're down.
THE MONIMENT.
But, neighbor, ef they prove their claim at law,
The best way is to settle, an' not jaw.
An' don't le' 's mutter 'bout the awfle bricks
We'll give 'em, ef we ketch 'em in a fix:
That 'ere's most frequently the kin' o' talk
Of critters can't be kicked to toe the chalk;
Your "You'll see nex' time!" an' "Look out bimeby!"
Most ollers ends in eatin' umble-pie.
'T wun't pay to scringe to England: will it pay
To fear thet meaner bully, old "They'll say"?
Suppose they du say: words are dreffle bores,
But they ain't quite so bad ez seventy-fours.
Wut England wants is jest a wedge to fit
Where it'll help to widen out our split:
She's found her wedge, an' 't ain't for us to come
An' lend the beetle thet's to drive it home.
For growed-up folks like us 't would be a scandle,
When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle.
England ain't all bad, coz she thinks us blind:
Ef she can't change her skin, she can her mind;
An' you will see her change it double-quick,
Soon ez we've proved thet we're a-goin' to lick.
She an' Columby's gut to be fas' friends;
For the world prospers by their privit ends:
'T would put the clock back all o' fifty years,
Ef they should fall together by the ears.
THE BRIDGE.
You may be right; but hearken in your ear,—
I'm older 'n you,—Peace wun't keep house with Fear:
Ef you want peace, the thing you've gut to du
Is jest to show you're up to fightin', tu.
I recollect how sailors' rights was won
Yard locked in yard, hot gun-lip kissin' gun:
Why, afore thet, John Bull sot up thet he
Hed gut a kind o' mortgage on the sea;
You'd thought he held by Gran'ther Adam's will,
An' ef you knuckle down, he'll think so still.
Better thet all our ships an' all their crews
Should sink to rot in ocean's dreamless ooze,
Each torn flag wavin' chellenge ez it went,
An' each dumb gun a brave man's moniment,
Than seek sech peace ez only cowards crave:
Give me the peace of dead men or of brave!