HAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, | |
That was built in such a logical way | |
It ran a hundred years to a day, | |
And then of a sudden, itah, but stay, | |
I 'll tell you what happened without delay, | 5 |
Scaring the parson into fits, | |
Frightening people out of their wits, | |
Have you ever heard of that, I say? | |
Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. | |
|
Georgius Secundus was then alive, | 10 |
Snuffy old drone from the German hive. | |
That was the year when Lisbon-town | |
Saw the earth open and gulp her down, | |
And Braddock's army was done so brown, | |
Left without a scalp to its crown. | 15 |
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day | |
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. | |
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Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, | |
There is always somewhere a weakest spot, | |
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, | 20 |
In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, | |
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,lurking still, | |
Find it somewhere, you must and will, | |
Above or below, or within or without, | |
And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, | 25 |
A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out. | |
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But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, | |
With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou,") | |
He would build one shay to beat the taown | |
'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; | 30 |
It should be so built that it could n' break daown; | |
"Fur," said the Deacon, "'t 's mighty plain | |
Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; | |
'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, | |
Is only jest | 35 |
T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." | |
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So the Deacon inquired of the village folk | |
Where he could find the strongest oak, | |
That could n't be split nor bent nor broke, | |
That was for spokes and floor and sills; | 40 |
He sent for lancewood to make the thills; | |
The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees; | |
The panels of whitewood, that cuts like cheese, | |
But lasts like iron for things like these; | |
The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum," | 45 |
Last of its timber,they could n't sell 'em, | |
Never an axe had seen their chips, | |
And the wedges flew from between their lips, | |
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; | |
Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, | 50 |
Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, | |
Steel of the finest, bright and blue; | |
Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; | |
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide | |
Found in the pit when the tanner died. | 55 |
That was the way he "put her through." | |
"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she 'll dew!" | |
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Do! I tell you, I rather guess | |
She was a wonder, and nothing less! | |
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, | 60 |
Deacon and deaconess dropped away, | |
Children and grandchildren,where were they? | |
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay | |
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! | |
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EIGHTEEN HUNDRED;it came and found | 65 |
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. | |
Eighteen hundred increased by ten; | |
"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then. | |
Eighteen hundred and twenty came; | |
Running as usual; much the same. | 70 |
Thirty and forty at last arrive, | |
And then came fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. | |
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Little of all we value here | |
Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year | |
Without both feeling and looking queer. | 75 |
In fact, there 's nothing that keeps its youth, | |
So far as I know, but a tree and truth. | |
(This is a moral that runs at large; | |
Take it.You 're welcome.No extra charge.) | |
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FIRST OF NOVEMBER,the Earthquake-day. | 80 |
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, | |
A general flavor of mild decay, | |
But nothing local as one may say. | |
There could n't be,for the Deacon's art | |
Had made it so like in every part | 85 |
That there was n't a chance for one to start. | |
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, | |
And the floor was just as strong as the sills, | |
And the panels just as strong as the floor, | |
And the whippletree neither less nor more, | 90 |
And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, | |
And spring and axle and hub encore. | |
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt | |
In another hour it will be worn out! | |
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First of November, 'Fifty-five! | 95 |
This morning the parson takes a drive. | |
Now, small boys, get out of the way! | |
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, | |
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. | |
"Huddup!" said the parson.Off went they. | 100 |
The parson was working his Sunday's text, | |
Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed | |
At what theMoseswas coming next. | |
All at once the horse stood still, | |
Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. | 105 |
First a shiver, and then a thrill, | |
Then something decidedly like a spill, | |
And the parson was sitting upon a rock, | |
At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock, | |
Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! | 110 |
What do you think the parson found, | |
When he got up and stared around? | |
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, | |
As if it had been to the mill and ground! | |
You see, of course, if you 're not a dunce, | 115 |
How it went to pieces all at once, | |
All at once, and nothing first, | |
Just as bubbles do when they burst. | |
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End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. | |
Logic is logic. That 's all I say. | 120 |