If I was sick a single jot, He called the doctor in-- I sot so much by Deacon Bedott I never got married agin.
A wonderful tender heart he had, That felt for all mankind,-- It made him feel amazin bad To see the world so blind.
That's as true as the Scripturs,--but if you'll believe it, Betsy Ann Kenipe told my Melissy that Miss Jinkins said one day to their house, how 't she 'd seen Deacon Bedott high, time and agin! did you ever! Well, I'm glad nobody don't pretend to mind anything _she_ says. I've knowed Poll Bingham from a gall, and she never knowed how to speak the truth--besides she always had a pertikkler spite against husband and me, and between us tew I 'll tell you why if you won't mention it, for I make it a pint never to say nothin' to injure nobody. Well she was a ravin'-distracted after my husband herself, but it's a long story. I 'll tell you about it some other time, and then you'll know why widder Jinkins is etarnally runnin' me down. See,--where had I got to? Oh, I remember now,--
Whiskey and rum he tasted not,-- He thought it was a sin,-- I thought so much o' Deacon Bedott I never got married agin.
But now he's dead! the thought is killin', My grief I can't control-- He never left a single shillin' His widder to console.
But that wa' n't his fault--he was so out o' health for a number o' year afore he died, it ain't to be wondered at he dident lay up nothin'--however, it dident give him no great oneasiness,--he never cared much for airthly riches, though Miss Pendergrass says she heard Miss Jinkins say Deacon Bedott was as tight as the skin on his back,--begrudged folks their vittals when they came to his house! did you ever! why, he was the hull-souldest man I ever see in all my born days. If I'd such a husband as Bill Jinkins was, I'd hold my tongue about my neighbors' husbands. He was a dretful mean man, used to git drunk every day of his life, and he had an awful high temper,--used to swear like all posset when he got mad,--and I've heard my husband say, (and he wa' n't a man that ever said anything that wa' n't true),--I've heard _him_ say Bill Jinkins would cheat his own father out of his eye teeth if he had a chance. Where was I? Oh! "His widder to console,"--ther ain't but one more verse, 't ain't a very lengthy poim. When Parson Potter read it, he says to me, says he,--What did you stop so soon for?"--but Miss Jinkins told the Crosbys _she_ thought I'd better a' stopt afore I 'd begun,--she 's a purty critter to talk so, I must say. I 'd like to see some poitry o' hern,--I guess it would be astonishin' stuff; and mor'n all that, she said there wa' n't a word o' truth in the hull on 't,--said I never cared two cents for the deacon. What an everlastin' lie!! Why, when he died, I took it so hard I went deranged, and took on so for a spell, they was afraid they should have to send me to a Lunattic Arsenal. But that's a painful subject, I won't dwell on 't. I conclude as follers:--