(Nigh fifty year they hed n't stirred nor spoke) Made sech a coil you'd thought a dam hed broke: Why, one he up an' beat a revellee With his own crossbones on a holler tree, Till all the graveyards swarmed out like a hive Wut is the news? 'T ain't good, or they 'd be cheerin'. Speak slow an' clear, for I 'm some hard o' hearin'. THE MONIMENT. I don't know hardly ef it 's good or bad, THE BRIDGE. At wust, it can't be wus than wut we've had. THE MONIMENT. You know them envys thet the Rebbles sent, THE BRIDGE. Wut! they ha'n't hanged 'em? Then their wits is gone! Thet 's the sure way to make a goose a swan! THE MONIMENT. No: England she would hev 'em, Fee, Faw, Fum! (Ez though she hed n't fools enough to home,) So they 've returned 'em THE BRIDGE. Hev they? Wal, by heaven, Thet 's the wust news I've heerd sence Seventy seven! By George, I meant to say, though I declare THE MONIMENT. Now don't go off half-cock: folks never gains THE BRIDGE. How? Hey? Not understan'? Why, wut 's to hender, pray? Must I go huntin' round to find a chap To tell me when my face hez hed a slap? THE MONIMENT. See here: the British they found out a flaw (They make all laws, you know, an' so, o' course, She was a mail-ship, an' a steamer, tu, An' thet, they say, hez changed the pint o' view, Coz the old practice, bein' meant for sails, Ef tried upon a steamer, kind o' fails; You may take out despatches, but you mus' n't THE BRIDGE. You mean to say, you dus' n't! Changed pint o' view! No, no, it's overboard THE MONIMENT. Wal, wal, two wrongs don't never make a right; THE BRIDGE. An' so we can't Distinguish 'twixt You ought n't an' You sha'n't! She jedges by herself; she's no idear How 't stiddies folks to give 'em their fair sheer: The odds 'twixt her an' us is plain 's a steeple,· Her People's turned to Mob, our Mob's turned People. THE MONIMENT. She's riled jes' now THE BRIDGE. Plain proof her cause ain't strong, The one thet fust gits mad's 'most ollers wrong. Th' ain't nut a face but wut she's shook her fist in, Nor never could agin, 'thout she wuz spliced I ha'n't no patience with sech swellin' fellers ez Think God can't forge 'thout them to blow the bellerses. 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 wut you expect, you'll hev to wait: This stumpin' fellers when you think they're down. THE MONIMENT. But, neighbor, ef they prove their claim at law, An' don't le' 's mutter 'bout the awfle bricks |