Beneath the maples laggin',
The day was hot, an' he'd a pile
Ov 'cetrees in his waggin';
A sack of flour, a hansum hog,
Sum butter and his terrier dog.

Preacher, he halted up his hoss,
Ask'd for Miss Spense an' Deely,
Tew limber up his tongue a mite,
And sez right slick an' mealy:
"Brother, I really want tew know
Hev you got religion? Samson, whoa!"

Old Spense, he bit a noble chaw,
An' sort ov meditated;
Samson he nibbl'd at the grass,
An' preacher smil'd and waited;
Ye'd see it writ upon his face--
"I've got Spense in a tightsome place!"

The old man curl'd his whip-lash round
An alto-vic'd muskitter,
Preacher, sort ov triumphant, strok'd
His ornary old critter.
Spense p'ints tew flour, an' hog, an' jar,
Sez he, "I've got religion thar!

"Them's goin' down tew Spinkses place,
Whar old man Spinks is stayin';
The bank he dealt at bust last month,