An' w'en he t'ink of de swampy farm
An' gettin' up winter night,
Watchin' de stove if de win' get higher
For fear de chimley go on fire,
It's makin' poor Louis feel so tire
He tell de devil, "All right."
"Correct," dat feller say right away,
"I 'll only say, Au revoir,"
An' out of de winder he 's goin' pouf!
Beeg nose, long hair, short tail, an' hoof,
Off on de road to Bord à Plouffe
Crossin' de reever dere.
W'en Louis get up nex' day, ma frien',
Dere 's lot of devil sign—
Bar'l o' pork an' keg o' rye,
Bag o' potato ten foot high,
Pile o' wood nearly touch de sky,
Was some o' de t'ing he fin'.
Suit o' clothes would have cos' a lot
An' ev'ryt'ing I dunno,
Trotter horse w'en he want to ride
Eatin' away on de barn outside,
Stan' all day if he 's never tied,
An' watch an' chain also.
An' swamp dat's bodder heem many tam,
W'ere is dat swamp to-day?
Don't care if you 're huntin' up an' down
You won't fin' not'ing but medder groun',
An' affer de summer come aroun'
W'ere can you see such hay?
Wall! de year go by, an' Louis leev'
Widout no work to do,
Rise w'en he lak on winter day,
Fin' all de snow is clear away,
No fuss, no not'ing, dere 's de sleigh
An' trotter waitin' too.
W'en t'orty year is nearly t'roo
An' devil 's not come back
'Course Louis say, 'Wall! he forget
Or t'ink de tam 's not finish yet;
I 'll tak' ma chance an' never fret,"
But dat 's w'ere he mak' mistak'.
For on a dark an' stormy night
W'en Louis is sittin' dere,
After he fassen up de door
De devil come as he come before,
Lookin' de sam' only leetle more,
For takin' heem—you know w'ere.
"Asseyez vous, sit down, ma frien',
Bad night be on de road;
You come long way an' should be tire—
Jus' wait an' mebbe I feex de fire—
Tak' off your clothes for mak' dem drier,
Dey mus' be heavy load."
Dat 's how poor Louis Desjardins
Talk to de devil, sir—
Den say, "Try leetle w'isky blanc,
Dey 're makin' it back on St. Laurent—
It 's good for night dat 's cole an' raw,"
But devil never stir,