A Dialogue

A Dialogue

Wearing pedestrian, where are you going
Bundle in one hand, and bandbox in t'other?
Going to seek a new place, if you plase, sir—
Sad is my heart, though my feeling I smother
Yes, in your face I see marks of dejection;
Why did you leave the last place where you lived,
If for your mistress you felt this affection,
Which, as you truly say, scarce can be hid?
Why did you leave her, or did she unkindly,
And without reason, cast you adrift?
It pains me to see you thus wandering blindly—
Come, in my wagon I'll take you a lift.
Turn me away, sir, is it you say, sir!
Troth, I should like to see one that would do it!
If you just think I'm a worm, drive away, sir,
You and your wagon—I'll go it on foot.


Did you not tell me that sad was your heart, ma'am?
Did you not tell me that you had no home?
Did you not tell me how hard 'twas to part, ma'am,
With a good place, and thus wearily roam?
May be you think I can't get another;
Maybe you think that no marm wants a girl;
Go, get along with you, you and your brother,
Or into your wagon a brick-bat I'll hurl!
May b you think to this country I came, sir,
To stick in one place, like an old rotten log!
Troth, and I'd think myself greatly to blame, sir,
To come to a free land, and work like a dog!
If you are so anxious to know just the rayson
I left the place where I lived near three year,
'Twas cos the mistress had the imperence brazen,
To tell me white sugar and butter were dear,
And that she wishd I would rise in the morning
Without making her get out of her bed
And come to my attic door just at the dawning,
Knocking as if to awaken the dead.
Say I, just lie still, then, till the fire itself makes;
Keep in your warm bed, my honey, my dear,
For it's the last time my morning's rest I breaks
To get up and wait on you, niver you fear.
So off thin I wint, sir, this bright Monday morning—
Left all the clothes standin' in suds—
Up to the attic, without ever turning
To look at her face, and packed up my duds
Into the bandbox, as you may see, sir,
Which I have carried full six miles to-day,
Without iver a morsel of bread or of tay, sir,
But niver mind that, I have had my own way!

M.

1:27, p. 4

1.21.1860