 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
1173
A DOS'T O' BLUES
I got no patience with blues at all!
And I ust to kind o' talk
Ag'inst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall,
They wuz none in the fambly stock;
But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,
That visitud us last year,
He kind o' convinct me differunt
Whilse he wuz-a-stayin' here.
And I ust to kind o' talk
Ag'inst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall,
They wuz none in the fambly stock;
But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,
That visitud us last year,
He kind o' convinct me differunt
Whilse he wuz-a-stayin' here.
From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from,
They'd pester him ev'ry-ways;
They'd come to him in the night, and come
On Sund'ys, and rainy days;
They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,
And in harvest, and airly Fall,—
But a dos't o' blues in the Winter-time,
He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!
They'd pester him ev'ry-ways;
They'd come to him in the night, and come
On Sund'ys, and rainy days;
They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,
And in harvest, and airly Fall,—
But a dos't o' blues in the Winter-time,
He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!
Said “All diseases that ever he had—
The mumps, er the rhumatiz—
Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger-bad
As ever the blame thing is!—
Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck,
Er a felon on his thumb,—
But you keep the blues away from him,
And all o' the rest could come!”
The mumps, er the rhumatiz—
Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger-bad
As ever the blame thing is!—
1174
Er a felon on his thumb,—
But you keep the blues away from him,
And all o' the rest could come!”
And he'd moan, “They's nary a leaf below!
Ner a spear o' grass in sight!
And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow!
And the days is dark as night!
You can't go out—ner you can't stay in—
Lay down—stand up—ner set!”
And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues
Would double him jes' clean shet!
Ner a spear o' grass in sight!
And the whole wood-pile's clean under snow!
And the days is dark as night!
You can't go out—ner you can't stay in—
Lay down—stand up—ner set!”
And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues
Would double him jes' clean shet!
I writ his parunts a postal-kyard
He could stay tel Spring-time come;
And Aprile—first, as I rickollect—
Wuz the day we shipped him home!
Most o' his relatives, sence then,
Has eether give up, er quit,
Er jes' died off; but I understand
He's the same old color yit!
He could stay tel Spring-time come;
And Aprile—first, as I rickollect—
Wuz the day we shipped him home!
Most o' his relatives, sence then,
Has eether give up, er quit,
Er jes' died off; but I understand
He's the same old color yit!
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |