“Why, young man, can’t you see
The joke?” And I looked at him with surprise.
He said, “Don’t be put out,
It’s a saying got about,”
And then their voices seemed to rend the skies:
Whoa, Emma! etc.
After a round of jokes and other buffoonery at the expense of the ringmaster, who retorted with threatening crackings of whip, he was ready with more melody. Sometimes he appealed to the tender emotions. “Baby Mine” was a favorite. It ran thus:
I’ve a letter from thy sire,
Baby mine, Baby mine;
I could read and never tire,