Poetry Archives

Say there!  P’r'aps
Some on you chaps
  Might know Jim Wild?
Well,—no offense:
Thar ain’t no sense
  In gittin’ riled!

Jim was my chum
  Up on the Bar:
That’s why I come
  Down from up yar,
Lookin’ for Jim.
Thank ye, sir!  YOU
Ain’t of that crew,—
Blest if you are!

Money?  Not much:
  That ain’t my kind;
I ain’t no such.
  Rum?  I don’t mind,
Seein’ it’s you.

Well, this yer Jim,—
Did you know him?
Jes’ ’bout your size;
Same kind of eyes;—
Well, that is strange:
  Why, it’s two year
  Since he came here,
Sick, for a change.

Well, here’s to us:
    Eh?
The h-—you say!
    Dead?
That little cuss?

What makes you star’,
You over thar?
Can’t a man drop
’s glass in yer shop
But you must r’ar?
  It wouldn’t take
  D——d much to break
You and your bar.

    Dead!
Poor—little—Jim!
Why, thar was me,
Jones, and Bob Lee,
Harry and Ben,—
No-account men:
Then to take HIM!

Well, thar— Good-by—
No more, sir—I—
    Eh?
What’s that you say?
Why, dern it!—sho!—
No?  Yes!  By Joe!
    Sold!

Sold!  Why, you limb,
You ornery,
    Derned old
Long-legged Jim.