Fellow Sympathy

You’ve got the wurst uv all complaints,

     Hain’t ye, friend? So’ve I.

The hardest fate ter buck against

Thet man did ever try.

You ain’t a-feelin’ fust class now,

     Be ye, friend? Neither’m I;

Our health is miser’bul, anyhow –

     We sometimes sooner die.

You’ve got the hardest job in town,

     Hain’t ye now? Me, too;

There hain’t another feller roun’

     Thet hes so much ter do.

Thar won’t nobody take our jokes,

     Will they? Git up a fuss;

But we mus’ stan’ the other folks

     An’ laff when they joke us.

We hev a pretty tough ol’ road

     To travel, don’t we, hey?

An’ back aroun’ the biggest load

     Uv any man ter-day?

But take it all aroun’ you hain’t

     So very bad a b’y,

But ye? Withal yer wust complaint

     Yur purty good? So’m I.

Aug. 1, ‘92

Pub. in the

Boston Courier