Читать книгу Saint Abe and His Seven Wives - Robert Williams Buchanan - Страница 6

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"There was a time, and no mistake,

When thet same ranche down in the brake

Was pleasanter a heap to me

Than any sight on land or sea.

The hosses knew it like their master,

Smelt it miles orf, and spank'd the faster!

Ay, bent to reach thet very spot,

Flew till they halted steaming hot

Sharp opposite the door, among

The chicks and children old and young;

And down I'd jump, and all the go

Was 'Fortune, boss!' and 'Welcome, Joe!'

And Cissy with her shining face,

Tho' she was missus of the place,

Stood larfing, hands upon her hips;

And when upon her rosy lips

I put my mouth and gave her one,

She'd cuff me, and enjy the fun!

She was a widow young and tight,

Her chap had died in a free fight,

And here she lived, and round her had

Two chicks, three brothers, and her dad,

All making money fast as hay,

And doing better every day.

Waal! guess tho' I was peart and swift,

Spooning was never much my gift;

But Cissy was a gal so sweet,

So fresh, so spicy, and so neat,

It put your wits all out o' place,

Only to star' into her face.

Skin whiter than a new-laid egg,

Lips full of juice, and sech a leg!

A smell about her, morn and e'en,

Like fresh-bleach'd linen on a green;

And from her hand when she took mine,

The warmth ran up like sherry wine;

And if in liquor I made free

To pull her larfing on my knee,

Why, there she'd sit, and feel so nice,

Her heer all scent, her breath all spice!

See! women hate, both young and old,

A chap that's over shy and cold,

And fire of all sorts kitches quick,

And Cissy seem'd to feel full slick

The same fond feelings, and at last

Grew kinder every time I passed;

And all her face, from eyes to chin,

Said *'Bravo, Joe! You're safe to win!'

And tho' we didn't fix, d'ye see,

In downright words that it should be,

Ciss and her fam'ly understood

That she and me would jine for good.

Guess I was like a thirsty hoss

Dead beat for days, who comes across

A fresh clear beck, and on the brink

Scoops out his shaky hand to drink;

Or like a gal or boy of three,

With eyes upon a pippin-tree;

Or like some Injin cuss who sees

A bottle of rum among the trees,

And by the bit of smouldering log,

Where squatters camp'd and took their grog

The night afore. Waal!" (here he ground

His teeth again with savage sound)

"Waal, stranger, fancy, jest for fun,

The feelings of the thirsty one,

If, jest as he scoop'd out his hand,

The water turn'd to dust and sand!

Or fancy how the lad would scream

To see thet fruit-tree jest a dream!

Or guess how thet poor Injin cuss,

Would dance and swear, and screech and fuss,

If when he'd drawn the cork and tried

To get a gulp of rum inside,

'Twarn't anything in thet theer style,

But physic stuff or stinking ile!

Ah! you've a notion now, I guess,

Of how all ended in a mess,

And how when I was putting in

My biggest card and thought to win,

The Old One taught her how to cheat,

And yer I found myself, clean beat!"