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1819–1891

THE TWO GUNNERS

James Russell Lowell

Two fellers, Isrel named and Joe, One Sundy mornin’‘ greed to go Agunnin’ soon‘ z the bells wuz done And meetin’ finally begun,

So'st no one would n't be about Ther Sabbath-breakin’ to spy out. Joe did n't want to go a mite; He felt ez though‘ twar n't skeercely right,

But, when his doubts he went to speak on, Isrel he up and called him Deacon, An’ kep’ apokin’ fun like sin An’ then arubbin’ on it in,

Till Joe, less skeered o’ doin’ wrong Than bein’ laughed at, went along. Past noontime they went trampin’ round An’ nary thing to pop at found,

Till, fairly tired o’ their spree, They leaned their guns agin a tree, An’ jest ez they wuz settin’ down To take their noonin’, Joe looked roun’

And see ( acrost lots in a pond That war n't mor'n twenty rod beyond ) A goose that on the water sot Ez ef awaitin’ to be shot.

Isrel he ups and grabs his gun; Sez he,‘ By ginger, here's some fun!’ ‘ Do n't fire,’ sez Joe,‘ it ai n't no use, Thet's Deacon Peleg's tame wil’ - goose:’

Sez Isrel,‘ I do n't care a cent. I've sighted an’ I'll let her went;’ Bang! went queen's-arm, ole gander flopped His wings a spell, an’ quorked, an’ dropped.

Sez Joe,‘ I would n't ha’ been hired At that poor critter to ha’ fired, But since it's clean gin up the ghost, We'll hev the tallest kind o’ roast;

I guess our waistbands'll be tight ‘ Fore it comes ten o'clock ternight.’ ‘ I wo n't agree to no such bender,’ Sez Isrel;‘ keep it tell it's tender;

‘ Tai n't wuth a snap afore it's ripe.’ Sez Joe,‘ I'd jest ez lives eat tripe; You air a buster ter suppose I'd eat what makes me hol’ my nose!’

So they disputed to an’ fro Till cunnin’ Isrel sez to Joe, ‘ Do n't le's stay here an’ play the fool, Le's wait till both on us git cool,

Jest for a day or two le's hide it, An’ then toss up an’ so decide it.’ ‘ Agreed!’ sez Joe, an’ so they did, An’ the ole goose wuz safely hid.

Now‘ twuz the hottest kind o’ weather, An’ when at last they come together, It did n't signify which won, Fer all the mischief hed been done:

The goose wuz there, but, fer his soul, Joe would n't ha’ tetched it with a pole; But Isrel kind o’ liked the smell on‘ t An’ made his dinner very well on‘ t.

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THE TWO GUNNERS · James Russell Lowell · Poetry Cove