Shapes of Clay

Ben Bulger was a silver man,

Though not a mine had he:

He thought it were a noble plan

To make the coinage free.

"There hain't for years been sech a time,"

Said Ben to his bull pup,

"For biz—the country's broke and I'm

The hardest kind of up.

"The paper says that that's because

The silver coins is sea'ce,

And that the chaps which makes the laws

Puts gold ones in their place.

"They says them nations always be

Most prosperatin' where

The wolume of the currency

Ain't so disgustin' rare."

His dog, which hadn't breakfasted,

Dissented from his view,

And wished that he could swell, instead,

The volume of cold stew.

"Nobody'd put me up," said Ben,

"With patriot galoots

Which benefits their feller men

By playin' warious roots;

"But havin' all the tools about,

I'm goin' to commence

A-turnin' silver dollars out

Wuth eighty-seven cents.

"The feller takin' 'em can't whine:

(No more, likewise, can I):

They're better than the genooine,

Which mostly satisfy.

"It's only makin' coinage free,

And mebby might augment

The wolume of the currency

A noomerous per cent."

I don't quite see his error nor

Malevolence prepense,

But fifteen years they gave him for

That technical offense.