And tunes like old "Red, White and Blue"
'll fairly drive him wild,
Played on the brass band, marchin' through
the streets! Jes like a child
I've saw that man, his smile jes set,
all kind o' pale and white,
Bare-headed, and his eyes all wet,
yit dancin' with delight!
XCVI
And yit, that very man we see
all trimbly, pale and wann,
Give him a case o' surgery,
we'll see another man!—
We'll do the trimblin' then, and we'll
git white around the gills—
He'll show us nerve o' nerves, and he 'ull
show us skill o' skills!
XCVII
Then you could toot your horns and beat
your drums and bang your guns,
And wave your flags and march the street,
and charge, all Freedom's sons!—
And Sifers then, I bet my hat,
'u'd never flinch a hair,
But, stiddy-handed, 'tend to that
pore patient layin' there.
XCVIII
And Sifers' eye's as stiddy as
that hand o' his!—He'll shoot
A' old-style rifle, like he has,
and smallest bore, to boot,
With any fancy rifles made
to-day, er expert shot
'At works at shootin' like a trade—
and all some of 'em's got!