Over talk of gay marriage and priests turned to rogues.īut speaking of talking, our language would cry We will toast you, regale you with accents and brogues, Of March - no, of April's - no, May's final snow. If you want, stay till spring see the wonderful show If you like, stay till winter when eyelashes freeze. You're welcome to come! Stay as long as you please! The city won't hang and won't persecute you. Now back to the tourists, and delegates, too. It was here that the nation's first witches were hung.ĭespite days of grandeur and triumphs quite sweet, Though many protested and hands must have wrung, Slaves once came through this great city's sad ports. The folks here are kingless they tossed out their tea,īut not all our people have always been free.ĭespite lots of good, there were screw-ups and warts: Presbyterians were banned, and the Quakers were hung. Priests were all outlawed 'mid lashings of tongue. Were banned as accessories God must revile. Hoop petticoats (yes, they were once in great style) If you tired of sermons, you'd have no reprieve. When the congregants settled on knees and in rows,īut the doors would all lock so that no one could leave: The court said that church doors would not only close 'Gainst pilgrims' fierce preaching of heaven and hellsĬame the first billiards parlor, the first set of bells. Want chocolate? 'Twas here the first factory stayed.Īnd the first public censor his first words forbade. The first football game, with its sweat and its scars. The first public school and the first subway cars, It all happened here on the roads you traverse.
The first published books and the country's first verse, (Public smoking and drinking met similar ends.) The first laws against cruelty to four-legged friends. We built the first bridge, crossing river to land įirst newspaper, too (though it quickly was banned) Then we'll linger with pilgrims on cobblestone lanes,Īnd I'll tell you of "firsts" from this land of the pious,įrom witches to rules born of strong Quaker bias.
You want other phrases? You're picking my brains? We'll glare and shake fists from the front and back seat,īut don't laugh as you idle on Newbury Street. We drive poorly and honk, but don't get on our back.
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The drivers flick fingers their nerves are worn ragged.Īnd now that you know this, please cut us some slack: When those paths became streets, well, the strides remained crazy.Ĭall Bostonites stubborn, or rude, or quite lazy,īut even today, all our crossings are jagged. So the paths were well worn by feet, horses, and sleigh,Īnd were crossed in a typically haphazard way. To wherever they went as they ranted and talked. Old Boston was small, and the Bostonites walked Had its birth on these streets, in the cobblestone maze. The Irish who fled here when down on their luck,īut I bet you don't know that the "jaywalking" phrase You've heard of the brahmins, the littlest duck, 'Gainst the clicking of heels and the patter of feet -Īnd to think that you'll find it on Newbury Street! The echo of voices and cannons' loud blast There are tidbits of history, tales of the past,
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With movie stars, shoppers, the bigwigs, and YOU. It's a glamorous strip of old money and new There's a street where it's lovely to just sit and look.
Now on with our story! Let's read Boston's book! I'll tell you a story of facts you're not taughtīy books or by tour guides or patterns of thought.īut first, rest your mind from political scenes.Ĭome hither I'll pass you a bowl of baked beans. To learn of our city 'cross chasms of years. On horseback, by sailboat, in spaceships and trains!ĭescend on old Boston and perk up your ears That's too bad, as one Bostonian - summoning the muse of Massachusetts native Theodor Seuss Geisel - cheerfully points out.ĭear readers, come hither, in cabs and in planes, When politicians and the press converge on Boston this weekend for the Democratic National Convention, it's a fair bet that more visitors will gravitate to the posh boutiques of Newbury Street than to tomes on the region's rich history.