Page:Lippincotts Monthly Magazine-40.djvu/89

Rh

ISTIS, I raly wish you'd hol'
 * A little conwersation

Wid my ole Zekyel 'bout his soul:
 * Dat nigger's aggiwation

Is mos' done worrited me to death, Raslin' wid 'im at ev'y breath.

Dat evil sinner's sot he face
 * Gin ev'y wud I know;

Brer Gabriel say he's fell from grace,
 * An' hell'll git him, sho'.

He don' believe in sperits,
 * 'Skusin' 'tis out a jug;

Say 'tain' got no mo' merits
 * Den a ole half-cured lug;

'N' dat white cat I see right late One evenin' nigh de grave-yard gate Warn' nuttin' 'cep' some ole cat whar Wus sot on suppin' off ole hyah.

He oon't allow a rooster
 * By crowin' in folks' do'

Kin bring death dyah, an' uster
 * Say 'e wish mine would crow;

An' he even say a hin mout try, 'Cep' women-folks would git so spry, An' want to stick deeselves up den, An' try to crow over de men.

Say 'tain' no good in preachin';
 * Dat niggers is sich fools,

Don't know no mo' 'bout teachin'
 * 'N' white folks does 'bout mules;

An' when brer Gabriel's hollered tell You mos' kin see right into hell, An' rambled scriptures fit to bus', Dat hard-mouf nigger's wus an' wus!