MARSE PHIL
Yes, yes, you is Marse Phil's son; you favor 'm might'ly, too.
We wuz like brothers, we wuz, me an' him.
You tried to fool d' ole nigger, but, Marster, 'twouldn' do;
Not do yo' is done growed so tall an' slim.
Hi! Lord! Ise knowed yo', honey, sence long befo' yo' born—
I mean, Ise knowed de family dat long;
An' dees been white folks, Marster—dee han 's white ez young corn—
An', ef dee want to, couldn' do no wrong.
You' gran'pa bought my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's sale,
An' Deely she come out de same estate;
An' blood is jes' like pra'r is—hit tain' gwine nuver fail;
Hit 's sutney gwine to come out, soon or late.
When I wuz born, yo' gran'pa gi' me to young Marse Phil,
To be his body-servant—like, you know;
An' we growed up together like two stalks in a hill—
Bofe tarslin' an' den shootin' in de row.
Marse Phil wuz born in harves', an' I dat Christmas come;
My mammy nussed bofe on we de same time;
No matter what one got, suh, de oder gwine git some—
We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime.
We cotch ole hyahs together, an' possums, him an' me;
We fished dat mill-pon' over, night an' day;
Rid horses to de water; treed coons up de same tree;
An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away.
When Marse Phil went to College, 't wuz, "Sam—Sam 's got to go."
Ole Marster said, "Dat boy 's a fool 'bout Sam."
Ole Mistis jes' said, "Dear, Phil wants him, an', you know—"
Dat "Dear"—hit used to soothe him like a lamb.
So we all went to College—-'way down to Williamsburg—
But 't warn' much l'arnin out o' books we got;
Dem urrs warn' no mo' to him 'n a ole wormy lug;
Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top-de-pot.
An' ef he didn' study dem Latins an' sich things,
He wuz de popularetis all de while
De ladies use' to call him, "De angel widout wings";
An' when he come, I lay dee use' to smile.