Page:Southern Life in Southern Literature.djvu/429

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You better stop dat prancin'; You 's pow'ful fond ob dancin', But I' ll bet my yeah's advancin' Dat I'll cure you ob yo' shines.

Look heah, mule! Better min' out; Fus' t'ing you know you 'll fin' out How quick I 'll wear dis line out On yo' ugly, stubbo'n back. You needn't try to steal up An' lif' dat precious heel up; You 's got to plow dis fiel' up; You has, sah, fur a fac'. Dar, dat's de way to do it! He 's comin right down to it; Jes watch him plowin' troo it! Dis nigger ain't no fool. Some folks dey would 'a' beat him; Now, dat would only heat him— I know jes how to treat him: You mus' reason wid a mule.

He minds me like a nigger. If he wuz only bigger He'd fotch a mighty figger. He would, I tell you! Yes, sah! See how he keeps a-clickin'! He 's as gentle as a chickin, An' nebber thinks o'kickin— ''Whoa dar! Nebuchadnezzah!''

