Blushin’ she bowed to the governor’s snigger, when first to his bed-room,
Bearin’ his boots and his breakfast, she came like a minist’rin’ angel—
Blushin’ she raised her bright face—and the Governor swore catawampus,
“Burn my old bree—that is, boots—gals like you didn’t ought for to do it.”
—Soft was the heart of Great Tarbox, and most horrid hansum the maiden,
Loftily spoke he of goold, and the tarnal low hitch of the humans,
Leavin’ such gals all alone, to go the whole hog at the washin’s.
Sweetly she’d set there beside him, the while with his governor’s hands he
Washed his own dicky or fried his simple repast of pork fixins;
Sweetly she sot there beside him, and Tarbox a-slavin’ was happy!