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A RICH EPIGRAM
Tom Maguire,
Torn with ire,
Lighted on Macdougall,
Grabbed his throat,
Tore his coat,
And split him in the bugle.
Shame! Oh, fie!
Maguire, why
Will you thus skyugle?
Why bang and claw,
And gouge and chaw
The unprepared Macdougall?
Of bones bereft,
See how you've left,
Vestvali, gentle Jew gal -
And now you've slashed,
And almost hashed,
The form of poor Macdougall.
[reprinted
in The Works of Mark Twain; Early Tales & Sketches, Vol. 2 1864-1865,
(Univ. of California Press, 1981), p. 387.]
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