Riley Farm-Rhymes | Page 3

THE DISCURAGED FARMER
The summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin'
locus' trees;
And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees,

And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the
sly,
Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly.
The
flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his

wings
And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings;
And the
hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz,
And the off-mare is
a-switchin' all of her tale they is.
You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they foller up the
plow--
Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not
a-carin' how;
So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the
wing--
But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing:
And
it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest,
She's as full of
tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest;
And a few shots before dinner,
when the sun's a-shinin'
right,
Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite!
They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day,
And the clouds of
the wet spell is all cleared away,
And the woods is all the greener,
and the grass is greener
still;
It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will.
Some says
the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded
out,
And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt;
But
the kind Providence that has never failed us yet,
Will be on hands
onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet!
Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and
dry
Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky?
Does
the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way,
Er hang his head in
silunce, and sorrow all the day?
Is the chipmuck's health
a-failin'?--Does he walk, er does
he run?
Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare just like they've

allus done?
Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er
voice?
Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice?
Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot;
The June is here
this morning, and the sun is shining hot.
Oh! let us fill our harts up
with the glory of the day,
And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow
fur away!
Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide,
Sich
fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied;
Fer the world is full of
roses, and the roses full of dew,
And the dew is full of heavenly love
that drips fer me
and you.
"MYLO JONES'S WIFE"
"Mylo Jones's wife" was all
I heerd, mighty near, last Fall--
Visitun
relations down
T'other side of Morgantown!
Mylo Jones's wife she
does
This and that, and "those" and "thus"!--
Can't 'bide babies in
her sight--
Ner no childern, day and night,
Whoopin' round the
premises--
NER NO NOTHIN' ELSE, I guess!
Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows
She's the boss of her own house!--

Mylo--consequences is--
Stays whare things seem SOME like HIS,--

Uses, mostly, with the stock--
Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk,

Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner
Act, I s'pose, so much like HER!

Yit the wimmern-folks tells you
She's PERFECTION.--Yes they
do!
Mylo's wife she says she's found
Home hain't home with
MEN-FOLKS round
When they's work like HERN to doPicklin'

pears and BUTCHERN, too,
And a-rendern lard, and then
Cookin'
fer a pack of men
To come trackin' up the flore
SHE'S scrubbed
TEL she'll scrub no MORE!--
Yit she'd keep things clean ef they

Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!

Mylo Jones's wife she sews
Carpet-rags and patches clothes
Jest
year IN and OUT!--and yit
Whare's the livin' use of it?
She asts
Mylo that.--And he
Gits back whare he'd ruther be,
With his
team;--jest PLOWS--and don't
Never sware--like some folks won't!

Think ef HE'D CUT LOOSE, I gum!
'D he'p his heavenly chances
some!
Mylo's wife don't see no use,
Ner no reason ner excuse
Fer his pore
relations to
Hang round like they allus do!
Thare 'bout onc't a
year--and SHE--
She jest GA'NTS 'em, folks tells me,
On spiced
pears!--Pass Mylo one,
He says "No, he don't chuse none!"

Workin'men like Mylo they
'D ort to have MEAT ev'ry day!
Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!
Ruther rake a blame caseknife
'Crost
my wizzen than to see
Sich a womern rulin' ME!--
Ruther take and
turn in and
Raise a fool mule-colt by hand'
MYLO, though--od-rot
the man!--
Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks CAN--
And 'lows sich
as her, I s'pose,
Is MAN'S HE'PMEET'--Mercy knows!
HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM
Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and
John,
Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time
comes on,--
And THEN, I want to say to you, we NEEDED he'p
about,
As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops turned
out!
A better quarter-section ner a richer soil warn't found
Than this-here
old-home place o' ourn fer fifty miles
around!--
The house was small--but plenty-big we found it from
the day
That John--our only livin' son--packed up and went

away.
You see, we tuk sich pride in John--his mother more'n
me--
That's natchurul; but BOTH of us was proud as proud
could be;
Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon
bright,
And seemed in