is body-servant--like, you know;
An' we growed up together like two stalks in a hill--
Bofe tarslin' an' den shootin' in de row.

Marse Phil wuz born in harves', an' I dat Christmas come;
My mammy nussed bofe on we de same time;
No matter what one got, suh, de oder gwine git some--
We wuz two fibe-cent pieces in one dime.

We cotch ole hyahs together, an' possums, him an' me;
We fished dat mill-pon' over, night an' day;
Rid horses to de water; treed coons up de same tree;
An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away.

When Marse Phil went to College, 't wuz, "Sam--Sam 's got to go."
Ole Marster said, "Dat boy 's a fool 'bout Sam."
Ole Mistis jes' said, "Dear, Phil wants him, an', you know--"
Dat "_Dear_"--hit used to soothe him like a lamb.

So we all went to College---'way down to Williamsburg--
But 't warn' much l'arnin out o' books we got;
Dem urrs warn' no mo' to him 'n a ole wormy lug;
Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top-de-pot.

An' ef he didn' study dem Latins an' sich things,
He wuz de popularetis all de while
De ladies use' to call him, "De angel widout wings";
An' when he come, I lay dee use' to smile.

Yo' see, he wuz ole Marster's only chile; an' den,
He had a body-servant--at he will;
An' wid dat big plantation; dee 'd all like to be brides;
Dat is ef dee could have de groom, Marse Phil.

'T wuz dyah he met young Mistis--she wuz yo' ma, of co'se!
I disremembers now what mont' it wuz:
One night, he comes, an' seys he, "Sam, I needs new clo'es";
An' seys I, "Marse Phil, yes, suh, so yo' does."

Well, suh, he made de tailor meek ev'y thing bran' new;
He would n' w'ar one stitch he had on han'--
Jes' throwed 'em in de chip box, an' seys, "Sam, dem 's fur you."
Marse Phil, I tell yo', wuz a gentleman.

So Marse Phil co'tes de Mistis, an' Sam he co'tes de maid--
We always sot our traps upon one parf;
An' when we tole ole Marster we bofe wuz gwine, he seyd,
"All right, we 'll have to kill de fatted calf."

An' dat wuz what dee did, suh--de Prodigal wuz home;
Dee put de ring an' robe upon yo' ma.
Den you wuz born, young Marster, an' den de storm hit come;
An' den de darkness settled from afar.

De storm hit comed an' wrenchted de branches from de tree--
De war--you' pa--he 's sleep dyah on de hill;
An' do I know, young Marster, de war hit sot us free?
I seys, "Dat 's so