为了赶早到达波士顿镇，今天早晨我起得很早;转角有个好地方——我一定要站着看演出。让一让，乔纳森!给总统的元帅让路!给政府大炮让路!联邦步兵和龙骑兵的道路——以及大量翻滚的幽灵。我喜欢看星条旗——我希望生命会奏响扬基歌。先头部队的弯刀多么闪亮啊!每个人都拿着左轮手枪，僵硬地穿过波士顿镇。一团雾随之而来——同样的古董一瘸一拐地来了，有的看起来像条木腿，有的看起来缠着绷带，没有血色。 10 Why this is indeed a show! It has called the dead out of the earth! The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see! Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear! Cock'd hats of mothy mould! crutches made of mist! Arms in slings! old men leaning on young men's shoulders! What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all this chattering of bare gums? Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake your crutches for fire-locks, and level them? If you blind your eyes with tears, you will not see the President's marshal; If you groan such groans, you might balk the government cannon. For shame, old maniacs! Bring down those toss'd arms, and let your white hair be; 20 Here gape your great grand-sons--their wives gaze at them from the windows, See how well dress'd--see how orderly they conduct themselves. Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you retreating? Is this hour with the living too dead for you? Retreat then! Pell-mell! To your graves! Back! back to the hills, old limpers! I do not think you belong here, anyhow. But there is one thing that belongs here--shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston? I will whisper it to the Mayor--he shall send a committee to England; They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the royal vault--haste! 30 Dig out King George's coffin, unwrap him quick from the grave- clothes, box up his bones for a journey; Find a swift Yankee clipper--here is freight for you, black-bellied clipper, Up with your anchor! shake out your sails! steer straight toward Boston bay. Now call for the President's marshal again, bring out the government cannon, Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession, guard it with foot and dragoons. This centre-piece for them: Look! all orderly citizens--look from the windows, women! The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that will not stay, Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull. You have got your revenge, old buster! The crown is come to its own, and more than its own. Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan--you are a made man from this day; 40 You are mighty cute--and here is one of your bargains.