Thy Beverly Villeins

When rustic Jed, by Fortune leanly fed, Did roam the hills with musket in his hand, A humble swain, grown bairns and Granny had On scanty yield wrung from the stony land, It chanc’d one morn, whilst hunting woodland game, The earth did groan beneath his errant shot; From blackened depths a bubbling torrent came, Dark treasure drawn from Nature’s secret grot.

“Black gold!” men cried, “rich Texas liquor rare!” And swift his barren poverty took wing; His kinsmen urg’d, “Good Jed, depart from there, To Californian shores thy fortunes bring.” So west they rode where Beverly’s bright hills Boast silver pools and Milburn Drysdale thrills.

And now, kind friends, our tale must find its close; Pray tarry yet, and rest thy weary toes.