THE JOLLY MILLER
[Unavailable image: The Jolly Miller—Title]
[Restored Romaunt.]
It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee;
He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea:
"O Mr. Flea! you have bit' me,
And you shall shorely die!"
So he scrunched his bones against the stones—
And there he let him lie!
Twas then the Jolly Miller he laughed and told his wife,
And she laughed fit to kill her, and dropped her carvin'-knife!—
"O Mr. Flea!" "Ho-ho!" "Tee-hee!"
They both laughed fit to kill,
Until the sound did almost drownd
The rumble of the mill!
"Laugh on, my Jolly Miller! and Missus Miller, too!—
But there's a weeping-willer will soon wave over you!" The voice was all so awful small—
So very small and slim!—
He durst' infer that it was her,
Ner her infer 'twas him!
[Unavailable image: That cat o' yourn I'd kill her]
That night the Jolly Miller, says he, "It's Wifey dear,
That cat o' yourn, I'd kill her!—her actions is so queer,—
She rubbin' 'ginst the grindstone-legs,
And yowlin' at the sky—
And I 'low the moon haint greener
Than the yaller of her eye!"
And as the Jolly Miller went chuckle-un to bed,
Was Somepin jerked his piller from underneath his head!
"O Wife," says he, on-easi-lee,
"Fetch here that lantern there!"
But Somepin moans in thunder tones,
"You tetch it ef you dare!"
'Twas then the Jolly Miller he trimbled and he quailed—
And his wife choked until her breath come back, 'n' she wailed! And "O!" cried she, "it is the Flea,
All white and pale and wann—
He's got you in his clutches, and
He's bigger than a man!"
"Ho! ho! my Jolly Miller," (fer 'twas the Flea, fer shore!)
"I reckon you'll not rack my bones ner scrunch 'em any more!"
And then the Ghost he grabbed him clos't,
With many a ghastly smile,
And from the doorstep stooped and hopped
About four hundred mile!
OUR HIRED GIRL
Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann;
An' she can cook best things to eat!
She ist puts dough in our pie-pan,
An' pours in somepin' 'at's good and sweet,
An' nen she salts it all on top
With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop
An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow,
In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop
An' git all spilled; nen bakes it, so
It's custard pie, first thing you know!
An' nen she'll say:
"Clear out o' my way!
They's time fer work, an' time fer play!—
Take yer dough, an' run, Child; run!
Er I cain't git no cookin' done!"
When our hired girl 'tends like she's mad,
An' says folks got to walk the chalk
When she's around, er wisht they had,
I play out on our porch an' talk
To th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn;
An' he says "Whew!" an' nen leans on
His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes
An' sniffs all around an' says,—"I swawn!
Ef my old nose don't tell me lies,
It 'pears like I smell custard-pies!"
An' nen he'll say,—
"'Clear out' o' my way!
They's time fer work an' time fer play!
Take yer dough, an' run, Child; run!
Er she cain't git no cookin' done!'"
[Unavailable image: Wuz parchin' corn fer the raggedy man]
Wunst our hired girl, one time when she
Got the supper, an' we all et,
An' it was night, an' Ma an' me
An' Pa went wher' the "Social" met,—
An' nen when we come home, an' see
A light in the kitchen-door, an' we
Heerd a maccordeum, Pa says "Lan'—
O'Gracious! who can her beau be?"
An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann
Wuz parchin' corn fer the Raggedy Man!
Better say
"Clear out o' the way!
They's time fer work, an' time fer play!
Take the hint, an' run, Child; run!
Er we cain't git no courtin' done!'"