THE
BALLAD OF DEACON SHELBY’S NON-ECCLESIASTICAL HORSE
---
By JOE CONE.
I’d trust a man with all my dosh,
With house
an’ barn an’ lands;
I’d put my name, my hard earn’t fame
Right in his
horny hands.
But when it comes to swappin’ nags
I wouldn’t
trust, not me,
The best ol’ pelt who ever helt
A hoss-whip,
no sir-ee!
– Gungawamp
– Gungawamp Jockey
Legend.
A
|
BE
CROCKETT he went off to town an’ bought a brand new nag
An’
fetched him home all dressed to kill, in blanket, strap an’ tag;
His
forelock was all braided nice, his tail combed sleek and trim,
An’
Abe he had a knowin’ grin unusual for him.
He
drove down to Jones’ store next day to git his mail,
An’
ev’ry feller looked him o’er frum nostrils down to tail;
An’
when Abe ast ’em what they thought, Bill Jones an’ Uncle Ross,
They
said he looked all right, an’ guessed he warn’t no common hoss.
“No
common hoss? I guess he ain’t.” said Abe behind a grin,
“Ef
you don’t think this hoss kin go you’d better git right in.”
But
no one ’peared to doubt his word, an’ Abe whipped up once more,
An’
left a cloud of dust behind that filled up Jones’ store.
An’
for a week Abe Crockett’s hoss was talked all through the town,
Till
ev’rybuddy wished to swap, from Parson Barlow down.
An’
when Abe found the biggest trade, he said, “ya-as”, very slow,
An’
finally exposed his heart, an’ let his bargain go.
Good
Deacon Shelby was the one to git the wondrous prize,
An’
he drove home with gratitude an’ joy in both his eyes;
He’d
swapped his hoss, a fairish cow, an’ paid a sum to boot,
An’
told his wife Abe Crockett was an ignerunt galoot.
Next
day was Sunday, and the “Deke” hitched up his brand new steed
To
drive his fambly off to church, a happy man indeed;
He
didn’t ’low more’n half the time he’d ’lowed the week afore,
His
new hoss wuz ez fast ag’in, if not a little more.
They
passed Abe Crockett on the way an’ left him in a cloud
Of
dust, but Abe jest said, “gid-ap”, an’ grinned unusual loud.
“’Tain’t
allus them who go so fast thet sometimes git there fust,”
Said
he, a-coughin’ in the midst of Deacon Shelby’s dust;
“This
hoss I’ve got ain’t nigh so fast but, I am sure thet he
Will
git to church ef time holds out, an’ patience, yis sir-ee.”
An’
by an’ by Abe overtook the Deacon on the way,
Stock
still, the horse braced back for fair, the Deacon in dismay.
“Look
here, Abe Crockett,” yelled the “Deke,” in accents loud and cross,
“What
do ye mean a-swappin’ me a durned ol’ balky hoss?
He
won’t go ’head, he won’t go back, he won’t go neither way,
I
ain’t be’n late for forty year, what do ye mean, I say?”
“Dunno,”
said Abe, a-pullin’ up, “seems balky ez kin be,
Don’t
he? It’s mighty funny, ‘Deke,’ he never balked with me.”
An’
Abe he tried to make him start, but pounded all in vain;
He
jest stood still until the folks wuz comin’ home again.
When
folks wuz comin’ from the church the hoss jest turned around,
An’
dug right in an’ made his feet jest whooper o’er the ground;
He
never stopped until he’d got inside the Deacon’s gate,
With
all the fambly scart to death at sech a fearful rate.
“Oho!”
said Abe, “I see the p’int, I didn’t know, I van,
The
chap I bought him of he warn’t a church attendin’ man.
Lay
low, friend ‘Deke,’ mum is the word, don’t be left in the lurch,
Jest
swap him off to some one here who never goes to church!”
There’s lots o’
men all through the world
Who wouldn’t tell a lie;
Who wouldn’t steal
a bag o’ meal,
Nor take a drop o’ rye.
But when it comes
to swappin’ nags,
To palmin’ off a skate,
They’ll shut their
eyes to paradise,
An’ take a chance with fate.
June 6, ‘09
ELOCUTIONIST
EPH
–
By JOE CONE
I.
|
W
|
HEN Ephram Elder
wuz a boy in “Deestric’ Number Three,”
A tanned an’ freckled, awkward boy, as humly
as could be,
Dull in his books, an’ slow to act, without
no push nor grit,
Folks proffersied
that he would wind up in the poor house yit.
II.
Now Ephram Elder
couldn’t read, not even fairly well,
He couldn’t figger
out his sums, an’ neither could he spell;
Was way behind in
joggerfry, an’ in his grammar, too;
But Ephram he
could speak a piece as none the rest could do.
III.
He’d take up
“Barbara Freitchie,” an’ he knew it ev’ry word;
He’d speak it with
a vigor an’ a style you never heard.
An’ as for
orrertory work, they wasn’t none round here
Could touch him on
that favorite, “The Ride of Paul Revere.”
IV.
Sometimes we’d
give donations, an’ sometimes ’twas
huskin’ bees,
An’ Ephram he was
allus round to ev’ry one of these;
They allus had him
speak a piece, an’ how their eyes would light
To hear him give
that curfew one, “It shall not ring tonight!”
V.
Where Ephram got
his speakin’ streak nobody seemed to know;
His father warn’t
no orrertor, his mother meek as dough.
But there he’d
stand upon the floor an’ elocute each one,
Until it seemed as
Webster warn’t in Ephram’s class, I swun!
VI.
You’d order seen
the “Light Brigade” as Ephram charged it, my,
But there was
horses in his hands, an’ sabers in his eye!
An’ ev’rybody’d
git on aige, excited as could be,
When Ephram
elocuted in ol’ “Deestric’ Number Three.”
VII.
But if he had a
special piece, in which he’d fairly shine,
It was “The Sword
of Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine;”
When Ephram
elocuted that he’d fairly raise the crowd,
An’ they would
holler out for more, an’ clap him long an’ loud.
VIII.
An’ still he
didn’t seem to be no good in other ways,
An’ so he sorter
drifted on to manhood’s sterner days,
Till by and by we
heard of him in some big western town,
A-makin’ of a
speech out there that brought the rafters down.
IX.
There was a
thousan’ cheerin’ throats when Ephram took his seat;
He simply had ’em
‘lectrified an’ standin’ on their feet.
“We’ll put him up
for Preserdunt!” they shouted one an’ all,
An’ ere the great
convention closed “our Ephram” had his “call.”
X.
My mind goes back
to other days, in that ol’ schoolhouse mine,
When Ephram
elocuted there ol’ “Bingen on the Rhine.”
He knowed that
somewhere in his soul he had a tale to tell,
An’ someday he
would tell it to the world, an’ tell it well.
XI.
An’ when he got
afore them men out West there, I opine
He had in mind, “Ol’
Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine,”
An’ like the Eph,
of bygone days, he let his soul expand
Until he held the
crowd within the hollow of his hand.
XII.
When Ephram
elocuted here, so many years ago,
He wasn’t dull, he
wasn’t thick, as people said, O no;
He jest was
workin’ out a plan, to make his future shine,
An’ he begun it, I
believe, with “Bingen on the Rhine.”
‘09
June 13,
Published
in the Boston Herald, June 13, 1909
Originally
written, without stanzas 4 – 6, as ‘Ballad of Ephram Elder, Elocutionist’
Ye
Basket Shade
Ye summer maide on
dress parade
Along ye sandy beach
Is uppe-toe-date
and fortunate,
With joye within her reach.
Ye bathynge lass
can now surpass
Alle seasons heretofore;
Can laugh like funne
at ye hotte sun
Which beats upon ye shore.
She needs no tree
for companie,
No shelter on ye sand;
No cloudy palle,
no parasol
Within her prettie hand.
She hath no fear
of raine, ye dear,
Nor bigge sun shining red;
Ye summer maide
hath ample shade
Upon her prettie head.
– Joe Cone.
June
21, ‘09
Originally
‘Ye Merrie Protector’
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