Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт)
”Jim”
Say there! P’r’aps
Some on you chaps
Might know Jim Wild?
Well,--no offense:
Thar ain’t no sense
In gittin’ riled!
Jim was my chum
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!
Money? Not much:
That ain’t my kind;
I ain’t no such.
Rum? I don’t mind,
Seein’ it’s you.
Well, this yer Jim,--
Did you know him?
Jes’ ’bout your size;
Same kind of eyes;--
Well, that is strange:
Why, it’s two year
Since he came here,
Sick, for a change.
Well, here’s to us:
Eh?
The h--- you say!
Dead?
That little cuss?
What makes you star’,
You over thar?
Can’t a man drop
’s glass in yer shop
But you must r’ar?
It wouldn’t take
D----d much to break
You and your bar.
Dead!
Poor--little--Jim!
Why, thar was me,
Jones, and Bob Lee,
Harry and Ben,--
No-account men:
Then to take HIM!
Well, thar-- Good-by--
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.
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