Part 7 (2/2)

And those two black crows Turned pale, And away those crows did sail.

Why?

B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.

B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B B-cause.

”Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZZZZZ.”

The Drunkard's Funeral

”Yes,” said the sister with the little pinched face, The busy little sister with the funny little tract:-- ”This is the climax, the grand fifth act.

There rides the proud, at the finish of his race.

There goes the hea.r.s.e, the mourners cry, The respectable hea.r.s.e goes slowly by.

The wife of the dead has money in her purse, The children are in health, so it might have been worse.

That fellow in the coffin led a life most foul.

A fierce defender of the red bar-tender, At the church he would rail, At the preacher he would howl.

He planted every deviltry to see it grow.

He wasted half his income on the lewd and the low.

He would trade engender for the red bar-tender, He would homage render to the red bar-tender, And in ultimate surrender to the red bar-tender, He died of the tremens, as crazy as a loon, And his friends were glad, when the end came soon.

There goes the hea.r.s.e, the mourners cry, The respectable hea.r.s.e goes slowly by.

And now, good friends, since you see how it ends, Let each nation-mender flay the red bar-tender,-- Abhor The transgression Of the red bar-tender,-- Ruin The profession Of the red bar-tender: Force him into business where his work does good.

Let him learn how to plough, let him learn to chop wood, Let him learn how to plough, let him learn to chop wood.

”The moral, The conclusion, The verdict now you know:-- 'The saloon must go, The saloon must go, The saloon, The saloon, The saloon, Must go.'”

”You are right, little sister,” I said to myself, ”You are right, good sister,” I said.

”Though you wear a mussy bonnet On your little gray head, You are right, little sister,” I said.

The Raft

The whole world on a raft! A King is here, The record of his grandeur but a smear.

Is it his deacon-beard, or old bald pate That makes the band upon his whims to wait?

Loot and mud-honey have his soul defiled.

Quack, pig, and priest, he drives camp-meetings wild Until they shower their pennies like spring rain That he may preach upon the Spanish main.

What landlord, lawyer, voodoo-man has yet A better native right to make men sweat?

The whole world on a raft! A Duke is here At sight of whose lank jaw the muses leer.

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