Classic Poem

Yes, yes, you is Marse Phil's son; you favor 'm might'ly, too.
We wuz like brothers, we wuz, me an' him.
You tried to fool d' ole nigger, but, Marster, 't wouldn' do;
Not do yo' is done growed so tall an' slim.

Hi! Lord! Ise knowed yo', honey, sence long befo' yo' born —
I mean, Ise knowed de family dat long;
An' dees been white folks, Marster — dee han 's white ez young corn —
An', ef dee want to, couldn' do no wrong.

You' gran'pa bought my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's sale,
An' Deely she come out de same estate;
An' blood is jes' like pra'r is — hit tain' gwine nuver fail;
Hit 's sutney gwine to come out, soon or late.

When I wuz born, yo' gran'pa gi' me to young Marse Phil,
To be his body-servant — like, you know;
An' we growed up together like two stalks in a hill —
Bofe tarslin' an' den shootin' in de row.

Marse Phil wuz born in harves', an' I dat Christmas come;
My mammy nussed bofe on we de same time;
No matter what one got, suh, de oder gwine git some —
We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime.

We cotch ole hyahs together, an' possums, him an' me;
We fished dat mill-pon' over, night an' day;
Rid horses to de water; treed coons up de same tree;
An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away.

When Marse Phil went to College, 't wuz, " Sam — Sam 's got to go. "
Ole Marster said, " Dat boy 's a fool 'bout Sam. "
Ole Mistis jes' said, " Dear, Phil wants him, an', you know — "
Dat " Dear " — hit used to soothe him like a lamb.

So we all went to College — 'way down to Williamsburg —
But 't warn' much l'arnin out o' books we got;
Dem urrs warn' no mo' to him 'n a ole wormy lug;
Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top-de-pot.

An' ef he didn' study dem Latins an' sich things,
He wuz de popularetis all de while
De ladies use' to call him, " De angel widout wings "
An' when he come, I lay dee use' to smile.

Yo' see, he wuz ole Marster's only chile; an' den,
He had a body-servant — at he will;
An' wid dat big plantation; dee 'd all like to be brides;
Dat is ef dee could have de groom, Marse Phil.

'T wuz dyah he met young Mistis — she wuz yo' ma, of co'se!
I disremembers now what mont' it wuz:
One night, he comes, an' seys he, " Sam, I needs new clo'es; "
An' seys I, " Marse Phil, yes, suh, so yo' does. "

Well, suh, he made de tailor meck ev'y thing bran' new;
He would n' w'ar one stitch he had on han' —
Jes' throwed 'em in de chip box, an' seys, " Sam, dem 's fur you. "
Marse Phil, I tell yo', wuz a gentleman.

So Marse Phil co'tes de Mistis, an' Sam he co'tes de maid —
We always sot our traps upon one parf;
An' when we tole ole Marster we bofe wuz gwine, he seyd,
" All right, we 'll have to kill de fatted calf. "

An' dat wuz what dee did, suh — de Prodigal wuz home;
Dee put de ring an' robe upon yo' ma.
Den you wuz born, young Marster, an' den de storm hit come;
An' den de darkness settled from afar.

De storm hit comed an' wrenchted de branches from de tree —
De war — you' pa — he 's sleep dyah on de hill;
An' do I know, young Marster, de war hit sot us free?
I seys, " Dat 's so; but tell me whar 's Marse Phil? "

" A dollar! " — thankee, Marster, you sutney is his son;
You is his spitt an' image, I declar'!
What sey, young Marster? Yes, suh: you sey, " It 's five — not one — "
Yo' favors, honey, bofe yo' pa an' ma!