Poems by John Hay
page 13 of 144 (09%)
page 13 of 144 (09%)
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And here stays Banty Tim:
He trumped Death's ace for me that day, And I'm not goin' back on him! You may rezoloot till the cows come home But ef one of you tetches the boy, He'll wrastle his hash to-night in hell. Or my name's not Tilmon Joy! The Mystery of Gilgal The darkest, strangest mystery I ever read, or heern, or see, Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall,-- Tom Taggart's of Gilgal. I've heern the tale a thousand ways, But never could git through the maze That hangs around that queer day's doin's; But I'll tell the yarn to youans. Tom Taggart stood behind his bar, The time was fall, the skies was fa'r, The neighbors round the counter drawed, And ca'mly drinked and jawed. At last come Colonel Blood of Pike, And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus-like, |
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