Its roots so quaintly human form 



Had grown thro' sunshine and thro' storm, 



Beside the grassy spring, 

 And its great boughs bent down to shield 

 The wayworn pilgrim and to yield 



Sweet fruit and comforting." 



It has been often and truly said that there is only a step between 

 the sublime and the ridiculous, and the familiar words are well illus- 

 trated in the "skit" by Charles T. Miller, published in 1874, humor- 

 ously tracing the influence of Williams' indomitable spirit, down 

 through the historic Dorr Rebellion into modern times. 



"Did you ever hear the story told 

 Of Roger Williams, the preacher bold, 

 Who settled this State in the days of old, 

 This little State of Rhode Island? 



In sixteen hundred and thirty-six, 

 Roger Williams got into a fix, 

 By saucing the Governor of Massachusetts, 

 And skedaddled away to Rhode Island. 



He crossed, as everybody knew, 

 Seekonk River in a birch canoe; 

 Just to save the tolls that were due 

 On the bridges above and below him. 



The college boats are always out, 



They'd have taken him over, I haven't a doubt; 



But Roger was mad and stuffed it out 



And "paddled his own canoe." 



When on Slate Rock a footing was found, 

 The Abby Origenes were sitting around; 

 And Roger, thinking he'd like to sit down, 

 He quietly asked, "What cheer?" 



The Indians thought it exceedingly cool, 



And said, "We have neither chairs nor stool; 



So sit down on the rock, you fussy old fool, 



As all the rest of us do." 



By the sweat of his brow, I've heard it said, 



He paid his way and earned his bread; 



And when he gets sufficiently dead, 



They'll put a monument over him. 



They buried him carefully, away from harm, 



In a quiet old orchard on his own farm, 



'Twas right in back of Governor Dorr's barn, 



And supposed that he'd keep quiet. 



But a jolly old apple tree rooting around, 



Seeking for phosphates under the ground, 



Followed his back-bone all the way down, 



And old Mother William's too. 



What's bred in the bone, in the flesh will show, 



What's bred in the root, the fruit will know; 



For two hundred years this fruit did grow 



'Till posterity ate him up. 



In 'forty-two he" got up a war 



By having got into Governor Door, 



By eating the apples, just as you saw; 



So there was another row. 



'Tis Williams' fault, as we all know now, 



Apples have always caused a row 



From Adam's time, way down to now; 



So they dug Mr. Williams up. 



So they dug up the roots and the coffin nails, 



To be planted again in boxes or pails; 



And unless a big stone monument fails, 



This time they'll keep him down." 



104 



