ZEKYL'S INFIDELITY

Mistis, I r'al' y wish you‘ d hole

A little conversation

Wid my old Zekyl‘ bout his soul.

Dat nigger's sitiwation

Is mons'us serious,‘ deed‘ n’‘ t is,

‘ Skusin’ he change dat co'se o’ his.

Dat evil sinner‘ s sot he face

Ginst ev'y wud I know;

Br'er Gabrul say, he‘ s fell from grace,

An’ Hell is got him sho’!

He don’ believe in sperits,

‘ Skusin’‘ t is out a jug!

Say‘ tain’ got no mo’ merits

Den a ole half-cured lug;

‘ N’ dat white cat I see right late,

One evelin’ nigh de grave-yard gate,

War n't nuttin’ sep some ole cat whar

Wuz sot on suppin’ off old hyah.

He‘ oont allow a rooster

By crowin’ in folks’ do’,

Kin bring death dyah; and useter

Say, he wish mine would crow.

An’ he even say, a hin mout try,

Sep woman-folks would git so spry,

An’ want to stick deeselves up den,

An’ try to crow over de men.

‘ E say‘ t ain’ no good in preachin’;

Dat niggers is sich fools —

Don’ know no mo’‘ bout teachin’

‘ N white-folks does‘ bout mules;

An’ when br'er Gabrul's hollered tell

You mos’ kin see right into Hell,

An’ rambled Scriptures fit to bus’,

Dat hard-mouf nigger‘ s wus an’ wus.

‘ E say quality ( dis is mainer

‘ N all Ise told you yit ) —

Says‘ tain’ no better‘ n‘ arf-strainer;

An’ dat his master‘ ll git

Good place in Heaven — po’ - white-folks, mark!—

As y’ all whar come right out de ark;

An’ dat — now jes’ heah dis!— dat he,

A po’ - white-folks’ nigger‘ s good as me!

He‘ s gwine straight to de deble!

An’ sarve him jes’ right, too!

He‘ s a outdacious rebel,

Arter all Ise done do!—

Ise sweat an’ arguified an’ blowed

Over dat black nigger mo’

‘ N would‘ a’ teck a c'nal-boat load

Over to Canyan sho’!

Ise tried refection —‘ t warn’ no whar!

Ise wrastled wid de Lord in pra'r;

Ise quoiled tell I wuz mos daid;

Ise th'owed de spider at his haid —

But he ole haid‘ t wuz so thick th'oo

Hit bus’ my skillit spang in two.

You kin dye black hyah an’ meek it light;

You kin tu'n de Ethiope's spots to white;

You mout grow two or three cubics bigger —

But you car n't onchange a po’ - white-folks’ nigger.

When you‘ s dwellin’ on golden harps an’ chunes,

A po-white-foiks’ nigger's thinkin’ bout coons;

An’ when you‘ s snifflin’ de heaven'y blossoms,

A po’ - white-folks’ nigger‘ s studyin’‘ bout possums.