Judge Roy Bean’s death sentence was a bit more poetic —
Jose Manuel Miguel Gonzales, in a few short weeks it will be spring. The snows of winter will flow away, the ice will vanish, the air will become soft and balmy. The annual miracle of the years will awaken and come to pass.
But you will not be there.
The rivulet will run its soaring course to the sea. The timid desert flowers will put forth their tender shoots. The glorious valleys in this imperial domain will blossom as the rose.
Still you will not be there.
From every treetop, some wildwood songster will carol his mating song. Butterflies will sport in the sunshine. The gentle breeze will tease the tassels of the wild grasses and all nature will be glad.
But you will not be there to enjoy it.
Because I command the sheriff of the county to lead you away to some remote spot, swing you by the neck from a knotting bough of some sturdy oak and let you hang until dead.
And then Jose Manuel Miguel Gonzales, I further command that such officer retire quickly from you.
...............
“You can vote your way into socialism, but you have to shoot your way out.” — Too fundamental to have an attribution