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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 cushion 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?

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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 Pagoda, 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 sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly templebells!

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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,

On the road to Mandalay

land!

Ship 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 Pagoda, 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 COON AND MISTER RABBIT

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

1

Well one time Mr. Rabbit an' Mr. Coon 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. Coon he was a fisherman. But Mr. Rabbit he kotch fish, an' Mr. Coon he fished for frogs. Mr. Rabbit he had mighty good luck, and Mr. Coon he had mighty bad luck. Mr. Rabbit he got fat an' slick an' Mr. Coon he got po' an' sick. Hit went on dis-a-way tell one day Mr. Coon met Mr. Rabbit in de big road. Dey shook han's dey did, an' den Mr. Coon 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 Coon. All I got to do is to bait my hook," sezee.

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