John Barley-Corn, My Foe
John Barley-corn, my foe, John,
The song I have to sing
Is not in praise of you, John,
E'en though you are a king.
Your subjects they are legion, John,
I find where'er I go:
They wear your yoke upon their necks,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
By your despotic sway
The people of our country, John,
Are suffering to-day.
You lay the lash upon their backs;
Yet willingly they go
And pay allegiance at the polls,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
You've broken many a heart,
And caused the bitter tear, John,
From many an eye to start,
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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To Bary Jade
The bood is beabig brighdly, love;
The sdars are shidig too;
While I ab gazig dreabily,
Add thigkig, love, of you.
You caddot, oh! you caddot kdow,
By darlig, how I biss you —
(Oh, whadt a fearful cold I've got!
Ck-tish-u! Ck-ck-tish-u!)
I'b sittig id the arbor, love,
Where you sat by by side,
Whed od that calb, autubdal dight
You said you'd be by bride.
Ho-rash-o! — there it is agaid - Ck-thrash-ub ! Ck-ck-tish-u!
Oh! for wud bobedt to caress
Add tederly to kiss you;
Budt do! we're beddy biles apart —
(H-o-rash-o! Ck-ck-tish-u!)
This charbig evedig brigs to bide
The tibe whed first we bet:
It seebs budt odly yesterday;
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Der Drummer
Who puts oup at der pest hotel,
Und dakes his oysders on der schell,
Und mit der frauleins cuts a schwell
Der drummer.
Who vas it gomes indo mine schtore,
Drows down his pundles on der vloor,
Und nefer schtops to shut der door!
Der drummer.
Who dakes me py der handt, und say,
"Hans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day?"
Und goes for peesness righdt avay?
Der drummer.
Who shpreads his zamples in a trice,
Und dells me, "Look, und see how nice"?
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Tale of a Nose
Twas a hard case, that which happened in Lynn.
Haven't heard of it, eh ? Well then, to begin,
There's a Jew down there whom they call " Old Mose,"
Who travels about, and buys old clothes.
Now Mose — which the same is short for Moses —
Had one of the biggest kind of noses:
It had a sort of an instep in it,
And he fed it with snuff about once a minute.
One day he got in a bit of a row
With a German chap who had kissed his frau,
And, trying to punch him a la Mace,
Had his nose cut off close up to his face.
He picked it up from off the ground,
And quickly back in its place 'twas bound,
Keeping the bandage upon his face
Until it had fairly healed in place.
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Tough Customer
Tis a story of a toper:
I knew him passing well,—
A shoemaker in Natick,
Which is oftentimes called — well-
Of course you've heard the story;
So I will not stop to tell.
He was the hardest drinker
For many miles around;
Though, as a waggish chap remarked,
"Hard drinker! I'll be bound
He drinks about as easy
As any man I've found!"
There chanced to be a "sample-room"
Close by his little shop,
In which, "just to be neighborly,"
He frequently would drop,
And "take a little something warm,"
From gin to gin-gei pop.
One day he went as usual;
And, finding no one in,
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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The Butcher's Courtship
"On, my Mary Ann," he side,
" Will you be my loving bride ? I cannot liver 'nother day without you.
Your bright smile lights up my heart,
Whisper yes, beefore we part, And the tenderlines of love I'll cast about you!"
Then the rascal, growing bolder,
Drew her head upon his shoulder, While the ribbones on her bonnet fluttered free,
And fore-quarter of an hour
They reclined within the bower, And she promised him she ever true would be.
" Now," says he, " I must be goin'—
Don't you hear the cattle loin ? I can tarry here no longer, love, to-day;
You can steak a silver dollar
I shall be a steady caller; Keep your pluck and spirits up while I'm away!"
Then he turned to cross a mead Where the horned cattle feed,
And wasn't paying very much attention To the gender of the herd, When there suddenly occurred
An accident he fain would never mention.
He chanced to look a round, When towards him, with a bound, Came their masculine protector o'er the lea;
And so brisket seemed to him That his chance was rather slim To flank him, or to even shin a tree.
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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Yawcob Strauss
I Haf von funny leedle poy,
Vot gomes schust to mine knee;
Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue,
As efer you dit see.
He runs, und schumps, and schmashes dings
In all barts off der house:
But vot off dot? he vas mine son,
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He get der measles und der mumbs,
Und eferyding dot's oudt;
He sbills mine glass off lager bier,
Foots schnuff indo mine kraut.
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,-
Dot vas der roughest chouse:
I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
But leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,
Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
To make der schticks to beat it mit,
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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"No Shildren In Der House."
Vagation dime vas coom again,
Vhen dhere vas no more shgool; I goes to boardt, der coundtry oudt,
Vhere id vas nice und cool. I dakes Katrina und Loweeze,
Und leedle Yawcob Strauss; Budt at der boarding-house dhey dakes
" No shildren in der house.
I dells you vot! Some grass don'd grow
Under old Yawcob's feet Undil ve gets a gouple-a-miles
Or so vay down der shtreet.
I foundt oudt all I vanted—
For de resd I don'd vould care —
Dot boarding-blace vas nix for me Yhen dhere been no shildren dhere.
Vot vas der hammocks, und der shvings,
Grokay, und dings like dhese, Und der hoogleperry bicnics,
Mitoudt Yawcob und Loweeze? It vas von shdrange conondhrum,
Dot vas too mooch tor Strauss, How all dhose beople shtandt id
Mit no shildren in der house.
"Oh, vot vas all dot eardthly bliss, Und vot vas man's soocksess;
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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He Gets Dhere Shust Dek Same!
Oldt AEsop wrote a fable, vonce,
Aboudt a boasting hare Who say : "Vhen dhere vas racing
You can alvays find me dhere!" Und how a tortoise raced init him,
Und shtopped hees leedle game. Und say : "Eef I don'd been so shpry,
I gets dhere shust der same!"
Dot vas der cases eferyvhere;
In bolidics und trade, By bersbiration off der brow
Vas how soocksess vas made. A man may somedime "shdrike id rich,"
Und get renown und fame, Budt dot bersbiration feller, too,
He gets dhere shust der same.
Der girl dot makes goot beeskits,
Und can vash und iron dings, Maybe don'd been so lofely
As dot girl mit dimondt rings; Budt vhen a vife vas vanted
Who vas id dot's to blame Eef dot girl mitoudt der shewels
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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Mine Katrine
You vouldn't dink mine frau If you shust look at her now, Vhere der wrinkles on her prow
Long haf been,
Vas der frdulein blump und fair, Mit der wafy flaxen hair, Who did vonce mine heart enshnare—
Mine Katrine.
Der dime seems shord to me Since ve game acrosd der sea, To der gountry off der free Ve'd neffer seen;
Bud ve hear der beople say Dhere vas vork und blendy bay, So I shtarted righdt avay Mit Katrine.
Oh, der shoy dot filled mine house Vhen dot goot oldt Toctor Krauss Brought us "Leedle Yawcob Strauss,"
Shveet und clean; Vhy, I don'd pelief mine eyes Vhen I look, now, mit surbrise, On dot feller, shust der size
Off Katrine!
Den "dot leedle babe off mine," He vas grown so tall und fine— Shust so sdrait as any pine You effer seen,
Und der beoples all agree Sooch fine poys dhey neffer see. (Dhey looks much more like ine As Katrine.)
Veil, ve haf our criefs und shoys, Und dhere's naught our lofe destroys, Budt I miss dhose leedle poys
Dot used to been; Und der tears vill somedime sdart, Und I feels so sick at heart, Vhen I dinks I soon must part
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poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
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