Now, bein' born in Middlesex, you | Starts out the tents an' booths o' Putknow, There's certin spots where I like best to go: The Concord road, for instance, (I, for An' in the twinklin' villages about, Fust here, then there, the well-saved lights goes out, An' nary sound but watch-dogs' false alarms, Or muffled cock-crows from the drowsy farms, Where some wise rooster (men act jest thet way) Stands to 't thet moon-rise is the break o' day: (So Mister Seward sticks a three-months' pin Where the war'd oughto eend, then tries agin; My gran'ther's rule was safer 'n 't is to nam's lines; Wal, neighbor, tell us wut 's turned up thet 's new? You 're younger 'n I be, -nigher Boston, tu: An' down to Boston, ef you take their showin', Wut they don't know ain't hardly wuth the knowin'. There's sunthin' goin' on, I know: las' night The British sogers killed in our gret fight (Nigh fifty year they hed n't stirred nor spoke) Made sech a coil you'd thought a dam hed broke: It's nateral they should understan' their force :) He'd oughto ha' took the vessel into port, An' hed her sot on by a reg'lar court; I don't know hardly ef it's good or She was a mail-ship, an' a steamer, tu, bad, THE BRIDGE. An' thet, they say, hez changed the pint o' view, At wust, it can't be wus than wut we've Coz the old practice, bein' meant for sails, |