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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343043" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Unarmed</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Saint Peter sat at the jasper gate,<br>When Stephen M. White arrived in state.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Admit me.' 'With pleasure,' Peter said,<br>Pleased to observe that the man was dead;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'That's what I'm here for. Kindly show<br>Your ticket, my lord, and in you go.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">White stared in blank surprise. Said he<br>'I _run_ this place-just turn that key.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Yes?' said the Saint; and Stephen heard<br>With pain the inflection of that word.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, mastering his emotion, he<br>Remarked: 'My friend, you're too d-- free;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I'm Stephen M., by thunder, White!'<br>And, 'Yes?' the guardian said, with quite</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The self-same irritating stress<br>Distinguishing his former yes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still demurely as a mouse<br>He twirled the key to that Upper House.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Stephen, seeing his bluster vain<br>Admittance to those halls to gain,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Said, neighborly: 'Pray tell me. Pete,<br>Does any one contest my seat?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Saint replied: 'Nay, nay, not so;<br>But you voted always wrong below:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Whate'er the question, clear and high<br>You're voice rang: '_I_,' '_I_,' ever '_I_.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now indignation fired the heart<br>Of that insulted immortal part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Die, wretch!' he cried, with blanching lip,<br>And made a motion to his hip,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With purpose murderous and hearty,<br>To draw the Democratic party!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He felt his fingers vainly slide<br>Upon his unappareled hide</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(The dead arise from their 'silent tents'<br>But not their late habiliments)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then wailed-the briefest of his speeches:<br>'I've left it in my other breeches!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343043" data-title="Unarmed de Ambrose Bierce" data-description="Saint Peter sat at the jasper gate,
When Stephen M. White arrived in state.

'Admit me.' 'With pleasure,' Peter said,
Pleased to observe that the man was dead;

'That's what I'm here for. Kindly show
Your ticket, my lord, and in you go.'

White st..."></div>
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