Ben Unger’s wife was dark and small, <br />With little, round, black eyes; <br />Ben Unger started at her call, <br />For Ben had been made wise. <br />No dirge could crush his spirit but <br />The one by Annie sung; <br />No whip-lash ever made could cut <br />Like Annie Unger’s tongue. <br /> <br />But Annie had a round, red cheek, <br />A figure like a plum, <br />And Henderson from up the creek <br />In courtship sly would come. <br />Then Annie voiced no angry call, <br />Here dirge remained unsung, <br />And very gentle was the fall <br />Of Annie Unger’s tongue. <br /> <br />Ned Holman went to Ben upon <br />The hill in Colter’s hay. <br />He said: “your wife with Henderson <br />Ran off at ten to-day!” <br />Ben stood stock still. “All right!” said he; <br />Then with a little laugh: <br />“That makes us quits at last. ‘Twas me <br />That stole his brindle calf!”<br /><br />Edward George Dyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/quits/
