“They say ‘Dobbs’ ain’t melodious,
  It’s ‘horrid,’ ‘vulgar,’ ‘odious,’
    In all their crops it sticks;
  And then the worse addendum
  Of ‘Ferry’ does offend ’em
    More than its vile prefix. 
  Well, it does seem distressing,
  But, if I’m good at guessing,
  Each one of these same nobs,
  If there was money in it,
  Would ferry in a minute,
    And change his name to Dobbs!

  “That’s it, they’re not partic’lar,
  Respecting the auric’lar,
    At a stiff market rate;
  But Dobbs’ especial vice is,
  That he keeps down the prices
    Of all their real estate! 
  A name so unattractive
  Keeps villa-sites inactive,
    And spoils the broker’s jobs;
  They think that speculation
  Would rage at ‘Paulding’s Station,’
    Which stagnates now at ‘Dobbs.’

  “’Paulding’s!”—­that’s sentimental! 
  An old Dutch Continental,
    Bushwhacked up there a spell;
  But why he should come blustering
  Round here, and filibustering,
    Is more than I can tell;
  Sat playing for a wager,
  And nabbed a British major. 
    Well, if the plans and charts
  From Andre’s boots he hauled out,
  Is his name to be bawled out
    Forever, round these parts?

  “Guess not!  His pay and bounty
  And mon’ment from the county
    Paid him off, every cent,
  While this snug town and station,
  To every generation,
    Shall be Dobbs’ monument;
  Spite of all speculators
  And ancient-landmark traitors,
    Who, all along this shore,
  Are ever substitutin’
  The modern, highfalutin’,
    For the plain names of yore.

  “Down there, on old Manhattan,
  Where land-sharks breed and fatten,
    They’ve wiped out Tubby Hook. 
  That famous promontory,
  Renowned in song and story,
    Which time nor tempest shook,
  Whose name for aye had been good,
  Stands newly christened ‘Inwood,’
    And branded with the shame
  Of some old rogue who passes
  By dint of aliases,
    Afraid of his own name!

  “See how they quite outrival,
  Plain barnyard Spuytenduyvil,
    By peacock Riverdale,
  Which thinks all else it conquers,
  And over homespun Yonkers
    Spreads out its flaunting tail! 
  There’s new-named Mount St. Vincent,
  Where each dear little inn’cent
    Is taught the Popish rites,—­
  Well, ain’t it queer, wherever
  These saints possess the river
    They get the finest sites!

  “They’ve named a place for Irving,
  A trifle more deserving
    Than your French, foreign saints,
  But if he has such mention,
  It’s past my comprehension
    Why Dobbs should cause complaints;
  Wrote histories and such things,
  About Old Knick and Dutch things,
    Dolph Heyligers and Rips;
  But no old antiquary
  Like him could keep a ferry,
    With all his authorships!