From the Rock Island Argus, October 12, 1912.
By Duncan M. Smith.
 

 His ancestor a pirate was,
   And proudly he gave tongue
 Unto the fact that his forbear
   Had from a yardarm swung.
 For if you take it in the days
   When history was made
 A pirate was, you are aware,
   A very decent trade.
 
 He had his picture on the wall
   Where every one could look;
 His history was written up
   And printed in a book.
 And he was just a trifle proud
   And thought that he was great
 Because he had descended from
   That tough old ancient skate.
 
 He had a sort of pity for
   The person who came down
 From ancestors who never robbed
   A coast or burned a town.
 They might be all right in a way,
   But it was understood
 They couldn’t be so much, because
   Their ancestors were good.
 
 He wouldn’t hurt a worm himself;
   He wouldn’t kill a fly.
 He was a modest man without
   A wicked, piercing eye.
 I often wondered, could we turn
   Back to the ancient crowd,
 If that old fiery ancestor
   Of him would have been proud.