C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Jim
By Bret Harte (1836–1902)
S
Some on you chaps
Might know Jim Wild?
Well,—no offense:
Thar ain’t no sense
In gittin’ riled!
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!
That ain’t my kind:
I ain’t no such.
Rum?—I don’t mind,
Seein’ it’s you.
Did you know him?—
Jess ’bout your size;
Same kind of eyes;—
Well, that is strange:
Why, it’s two year
Since he came here,
Sick, for a change.
Eh?
The h— you say!
Dead?
That little cuss?
You over thar?
Can’t a man drop
’S glass in yer shop
But you must rar’?
It wouldn’t take
D— much to break
You and your bar.
Poor—little—Jim!
Why, thar was me,
Jones, and Bob Lee,
Harry and Ben,—
No-account men:
Then to take him!
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!