Francis Bret Harte

Penelope

   (SIMPSON’S BAR, 1858)

So you’ve kem ’yer agen,
  And one answer won’t do?
Well, of all the derned men
  That I’ve struck, it is you.
O Sal! ’yer’s that derned fool from Simpson’s, cavortin’ round ’yer
   in the dew.

Kem in, ef you WILL.
  Thar,--quit!  Take a cheer.
Not that; you can’t fill
  Them theer cushings this year,--
For that cheer was my old man’s, Joe Simpson, and they don’t make
   such men about ’yer.

He was tall, was my Jack,
  And as strong as a tree.
Thar’s his gun on the rack,--
  Jest you heft it, and see.
And YOU come a courtin’ his widder!  Lord! where can that critter,
   Sal, be!

You’d fill my Jack’s place?
  And a man of your size,--
With no baird to his face,
  Nor a snap to his eyes,
And nary--Sho! thar! I was foolin’,--I was, Joe, for sartain,--don’t
   rise.

Sit down.  Law! why, sho!
  I’m as weak as a gal.
Sal!  Don’t you go, Joe,
  Or I’ll faint,--sure, I shall.
Sit down,--ANYWHEER, where you like, Joe,--in that cheer, if you
   choose,--Lord! where’s Sal?