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You talk 'boudt bein' henpecked, und ruled by voman's tongue,
I tell you vat it is, sir, I'm vorse off den Prigham Young.
So wrode oop dot baper, lawyer, und draw it righdt avay,
Und I'll take it home to Baitsy, und see vot she vill say.
Und den to-morrow morning I vill sell aiferyding I own,
Und bid Baitsy und our shild goot-by, und go oudt een der vorld alone.
Und ven I dink ov Baitsy a dousand milse avay,
I'll baed she'll vant to hafe me comb righdt back home und shtay.
Bud I naifer vill comb back again, unless she's tooken sick,
Ov she is, you tailegraf me to comb back pooty gwick.
Remaimber vot I tell you, und don'd keeb me in soosbense;
Youst bay the tailegrafer, und sharge to my oxbense.
Dot puts me een mind ov someding dot I can't dink ov now;
I can't remaimber vot I vorget—dot beats all, ainyhow!
Oh! now I've got it—wrode it down, dot ven I'm dead und gone,
Baitsy'll bring back me to her, und bury me een der lawn.
Und on my tombstone let it read, in ledders large und blain,
"Here lies Shon Shtuffenheimer, and hees vife she is to blame."
Und I hope dot in a veek or two, righdt after I hafe died,
Baitsy und I vill both ov us be laying side by side.
Und ven Gabreel blows hees drumpet oop, und all der dead shall rise,
Baitsy und I vill both shoomp oop, and vipe our veeping eyes;
Und den, if it looks doubtful, ve'll shtand righdt dere und vait,
Und ven no vone vas lookin', ve'll shkweeze dru der Golden Gate.
George M. Warren.
CUT, CUT BEHIND.
Vhen shnow und ice vas on der ground,
Und merry shleigh-bells shingle;
Vhen Shack Frost he vas peen around,
Und make mine oldt ears tingle—
I hear dhose roguish gamins say,
"Let shoy pe unconfined!"
Und dhen dhey go for efry shleigh,
Und yell, "Cut, cut pehind!"
It makes me shust feel young some more,
To hear dhose youngsters yell,
Und eef I don'd vas shtiff und sore,
Py shings! I shust vould—Vell,
Vhen some oldt pung was coomin' py,
I dink I'd feel inclined
To shump right in upon der shly,
Und shout, "Cut, cut pehind!"