Standard Selections Part 53

Oh! I'd rather own that car, sir, With Peggy by my side, Than a coach and four, and gold galore, And a lady for my bride; For the lady would sit forninst me, On a cus.h.i.+on made with taste, While Peggy would sit beside me, With my arm around her waist, While we drove in the low-backed car To be married by Father Maher; Oh! my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh, Though it beat in a low-backed car.

MAMMY'S PICKANIN'

LUCY DEAN JENKINS

Now, whah d'ye s'pose dat chile is?

My, he's got a head!

He's a-hidin' frum his mammy 'Case it's time to go to bed.

Hyah, you, Petah Johnsing!

Come inside dat fence.

I done tole you yes'day You didn't hab no sense.

What's dat? A-waitin' fo' yo' daddy?

(Bress his little hea't!) Why, chile! Yo' daddy won't be comin'

Froo dat woodsy pa't

At dis time ob de ebenin'.

Don't you see dat moon?

Dat's de sign dat spooks 'Ll be a-trablin' soon.

I b'lieve I see 'em Comin'--Ma.s.sy me!

As sho' as you is breavin'

Dar's one behind dat tree!

Ha! Ha! I t'ought dat 'd bring him.

Come hyah, sweety hon', Come to yo' ole mammy, An' if dose spookies come

An' want my pickaninny, I'll swat 'em in de face; I'll take dar flowin' ga'ments, An' jest wipe up de place.

I'll take dat ar bu'nt hoe-cake, An' hit 'em on de head, Till dey'll be glad to go away, An' let my baby go to bed.

So, don't cry no mo', my honey, Jes' close yo' little eye, An' mammy'll rock ye in her a'ms, An' sing de-- "Lullaby, Close yo' eye, Mammy's little dusky baby; Hush-a-bye, Close yo' eye, Mammy's little baby boy, Den hush-a-bye."

Now, what's de mattah, honey?

Ain't you neber gwine ter sleep?

Dose spookies ain't a-comin'; Dey's gwine off down de street.

Now shet yo' eyes up tight, An' go right off to sleep; An' to-morrow for yo' breakfus'

You'll hab' possum for to eat.

So, don't cry no mo', my honey, Jes' close yo' little eye, While mammy rocks you in her a'ms An' sings de-- "Lullaby," etc.

MANDALAY

RUDYARD KIPLING

By the old Moulmein PaG.o.da, lookin' eastward to the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin', an' I know she thinks o' me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells they say: "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"

Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Can't you 'ear their paddles chuckin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?

On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticut was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat--jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, An' I seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o' mud-- Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd-- Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!

On the road to Mandalay--

When the mist was on the rice fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "_Kullalo-lo_!"

With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.

Elephints a-pilin' teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!

On the road to Mandalay--

But that's all shove be'ind me--long ago an' fur away, An' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the Benk to Mandalay; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells: "If you've 'eard the East a-callin,' why, you won't 'eed nothin'

else."

No! you won't 'eed nothin' else But them spicy garlic smells An' the suns.h.i.+ne an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells!

On the road to Mandalay--

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gutty pavin'-stones, An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?

Beefy face an' grubby 'and-- Law! wot do they understand?

I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener, land!

On the road to Mandalay--

s.h.i.+p me somewheres east of Suez where the best is like the worst, Where there aren't no Ten Commandments, an' a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be-- By the old Moulmein PaG.o.da, lookin' lazy at the sea-- On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!

On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

MISTER c.o.o.n AND MISTER RABBIT[74]

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

Well one time Mr. Rabbit an' Mr. c.o.o.n live close ter one anudder in de same neighborhoods. How dey does now I ain't a-tellin' you, but in dem days dey wa'n't no hard feelin's 'twixt um. Dey jest went along like two ole cronies. Mr. Rabbit he was a fisherman an' Mr. c.o.o.n he was a fisherman. But Mr. Rabbit he kotch fish, an' Mr. c.o.o.n he fished for frogs. Mr. Rabbit he had mighty good luck, and Mr. c.o.o.n he had mighty bad luck. Mr. Rabbit he got fat an' slick an' Mr. c.o.o.n he got po' an'

sick. Hit went on dis-a-way tell one day Mr. c.o.o.n met Mr. Rabbit in de big road. Dey shook han's dey did, an' den Mr. c.o.o.n he 'low: "Brer Rabbit, whar you git sech a fine chance er fish?" Mr. Rabbit laugh an'

say, "I kotch 'em outen de river, Brer c.o.o.n. All I got to do is to bait my hook," sezee.

Den Mr. c.o.o.n he shake his head an' 'low, "Den how come I ain't ketch no frogs?" Mr. Rabbit sat down in de road an' scratched fer fleas an' den he 'low, "It's kaze you done make um all mad, Brer c.o.o.n. One time in de dark er de moon, you slipped down ter de branch an' kotch de ole king frog, an' ever sence dat time, w'enever you er pa.s.sin' by, you kin year um sing out, fus' one an' den anudder, 'Yer he come! Dar he goes! Hit 'im in de eye! Hit 'im in de eye! Mash 'im an' smash 'im! Mash 'im an'

smash 'im!' Ya.s.ser, dat w'at dey say. I year um constant, Brer c.o.o.n, an'

dat des w'at dey say."

Den Mr. c.o.o.n up an' say, "Ef dat de way dey gwine on, how de name er goodness kin I ketch um, Brer Rabbit. I bleege ter have sumfin ter eat fer me an' my fambly connection."

Mr. Rabbit sorter grin in de corner ob de mouf an' den he say, "Well, Brer c.o.o.n, bein' ez you bin so sociable 'long wid me, an' ain't never showed your toofies w'en I pull yo' tail, I'll des whirl in an' hep you out."