Hen
Sanderson, he fished fur shad
On
the Connecticut, he had
About
ez hard a name, they tell,
Ez
yew could find outside of – well,
Outside
uv any river ring
Where
drinkin’ wuz the proper thing.
Ol’
Hen? Why, he would ruther drink
Than
eat or drink or smoke or think;
An’
I hev heerd it told by dad
He’d
ruther drink than catch a shad.
Hen
Sanderson ez jest about
Drunk
his ol’ carcass down an’ out.
He
drank all day so he would be
A-feelin’
good fur night, you see;
An’
nights he’d drink the same, they say
So
he would feel all right by May,
An’
so he drank the hull durn time
Tur
keep himself a-feelin’ prime;
An’
finally he got so bad
He,
well, he couldn’t fish fur shad.
He
hung around the river shore
Where
they wuz mendin’ net an’ swore
He’d
never seen so dry a crowd
Sence
he wuz born. Someone allowed
He’d
be’n a soak so long that he
Jest
thought thet ev’rything he see
Wuz
dry, except the river an’
The
hotel barroom close at han’.
Hen
Sanderson he got so low
They
turned him out; he hed to go
An’
sleep in boats along the bank,
An’
had to steal fur what he drank.
One
night he broke a locker where
He
found a jug stowed by with care,
An’
in the dark he swilled an’ swilled
Until
his mighty thirst wuz killed.
Says
Hen, “I’ll hev a little puff,
An’
then I’ll sleep, – hic – like enough.”
He
filled his pipe then struck a light
Fetchin’
it close to his mouth – the night
Lit
up jest like a gun went off,
An’
sech a noise! We reached the wharf
Where
the boat wuz an’ there we found
A
part uv Henry floatin’ round.
An’
mongst the wreckage there we seen
A
ha’f filled jug marked “gasoline”.
April
20, ‘08
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