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LXVII. THE PLANTER'S LAMENT.
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238

Page 238

67. LXVII.
THE PLANTER'S LAMENT.

Wich wuz written by me, to the toon uvI wish I wuz a Angel,wich, since
the eleckshun, I trooly wish I wuz.

O, wunst I wuz a planter,
A reglar F. F. V.;
I owned five hundred niggers,
Whose work supportid me.
O, dident I hump them niggers,
And make their sweatin pay?
I cat-o-nined the lazy,
And worked em night and day.
I had a gorjus carriage,
Four hosses fleet ez wind,
A fat nig on for driver,
Two footmen on behind;
The hangins they wuz damask,
The trimmins rare and rich,
Jest ez they do in Europe,
Wher they hev lords and sich.
I went to Saratogy
With flunkies in my train,
I spent my cash by thousands,
And when at home again,

239

Page 239
To make up the expenses,
I 'd sell off nigs a skore,
And to keep up the labor
I worked the rest the more.
Uv coarse, I went to Congris,
Ez all the Lash-lords do;
I spent my nites at poker,
At seven-up and loo.
We bullied dough-faced Yankees,
And made em bow the knee,
Ez umble ez our niggers,
Before the chivalree.
At home we huntid niggers,
With dorgs and ketchers skilled;
Up North Bookannon's marshels
The blood-hounds places filled;
Our sins, no odds how black they wuz,
Did never trubble us,
Our Northren friends wood sholder em,
And take, themselves, the cuss.
But all them days is past and gone;
The Yank, at last, hez riz;
He won't acknollij enny more
That we his master is.
My munny Jeff'son D. hez got,
My niggers, drest in bloo,
Air a fitin us ez owned em,
And a whippin uv us too.

240

Page 240
O wat week worms we mortals is,
Who never is content;
We hed a good thing, but 2 git
A better, let it went.
We hed the bone, but let it go,
To grab a glitt'ring shadder;
We 've lost em both, and since hev gone
From mity bad to badder.