Ef thet’s wut you expect, you’ll hev to wait; 170 Folks never understand the folks they hate:  She’ll fin’ some other grievance jest ez good, ’fore the month’s out, to git misunderstood.  England cool off!  She’ll do it, ef she sees She’s run her head into a swarm o’ bees.  I ain’t so prejudiced ez wut you spose:  I hev thought England was the best thet goes; Remember (no, you can’t), when I was reared, God save the King was all the tune you heerd:  But it’s enough to turn Wachuset roun’ 180 This stumpin’ fellers when you think they’re down.

THE MONIMENT

But, neighbor, ef they prove their claim at law,
The best way is to settle, an’ not jaw. 
An’ don’t le’ ’s mutter ’bout the awfle bricks
We’ll give ’em, ef we ketch ’em in a fix: 
That ‘ere’s most frequently the kin’ o’ talk
Of critters can’t be kicked to toe the chalk;
Your ‘You’ll see nex’ time!’ an’ ‘Look out bumby!’
‘Most ollers ends in eatin’ umble-pie. 
’Twun’t pay to scringe to England:  will it pay 190
To fear thet meaner bully, old ‘They’ll say’? 
Suppose they du say; words are dreffle bores,
But they ain’t quite so bad ez seventy-fours. 
Wut England wants is jest a wedge to fit
Where it’ll help to widen out our split: 
She’s found her wedge, an’ ’tain’t for us to come
An’ lend the beetle thet’s to drive it home. 
For growed-up folks like us ’twould be a scandle,
When we git sarsed, to fly right off the handle. 
England ain’t all bad, coz she thinks us blind:  200
Ef she can’t change her skin, she can her mind;
An’ we shall see her change it double-quick. 
Soon ez we’ve proved thet we’re a-goin’ to lick. 
She an’ Columby’s gut to be fas’ friends: 
For the world prospers by their privit ends: 
‘Twould put the clock back all o’ fifty years
Ef they should fall together by the ears.

THE BRIDGE

I ’gree to thet; she’s nigh us to wut France is;
But then she’ll hev to make the fust advances;
We’ve gut pride, tu, an’ gut it by good rights, 210
An’ ketch me stoopin’ to pick up the mites
O’ condescension she’ll be lettin’ fall
When she finds out we ain’t dead arter all! 
I tell ye wut, it takes more’n one good week
Afore my nose forgits it’s hed a tweak.

THE MONIMENT

She’ll come out right bumby, thet I’ll engage,
Soon ez she gits to seein’ we’re of age;
This talkin’ down o’ hers ain’t wuth a fuss;
It’s nat’ral ez nut likin’ ’tis to us; 220
Ef we’re agoin’ to prove we be growed-up. 
‘Twun’t be by barkin’ like a tarrier pup,
But turnin’ to an’ makin’ things ez good
Ez wut we’re ollers braggin’ that we could;
We’re boun’ to be good friends, an’ so we’d oughto,
In spite of all the fools both sides the water.