I love you better ever’ night
You come around,—’tel plum daylight,
When you air out o’ sight!”
And then my Conscience sort o’ grits
His teeth, and spits
On his two hands and grabs, of course,
Some old remorse,
And beats me with the big butt-end
O’ that thing—‘tel my clostest friend
’Ud hardly know me. “Now,” says he,