Ez fer the niggers, I’ve ben South, an’ thet hez changed my min’;
A lazier, more ongrateful set you couldn’t nowers fin’,
You know I mentioned in my last thet I should buy a nigger,
Ef I could make a purchase at a pooty mod’rate figger;
So, ez there’s nothin’ in the world I’m fonder of ‘an gunnin’,
I closed a bargain finally to take a feller runnin’. 150
I shou’dered queen’s-arm an’ stumped out, an’ wen I come t’ th’ swamp,
‘Tworn’t very long afore I gut upon the nest o’ Pomp;
I come acrost a kin’ o’ hut, an’, playin’ round the door,
Some little woolly-headed cubs, ez many ’z six or more. 
At fust I thought o’ firin’, but think twice is safest ollers;
There aint, thinks I, not one on ’em but’s wuth his twenty dollars,
Or would be, ef I hed ’em back into a Christian land,—­
How temptin’ all on ’em would look upon an auction-stand! 
(Not but wut I hate Slavery, in th’ abstract, stem to starn,—­
I leave it ware our fathers did, a privit State consarn.) 160
Soon ‘z they see me, they yelled an’ run, but Pomp wuz out ahoein’
A leetle patch o’ corn he hed, or else there aint no knowin’
He wouldn’t ha’ took a pop at me; but I hed gut the start,
An’ wen he looked, I vow he groaned ez though he’d broke his heart;
He done it like a wite man, tu, ez nat’ral ez a pictur,
The imp’dunt, pis’nous hypocrite! wus ’an a boy constrictur. 
‘You can’t gum me, I tell ye now, an’ so you needn’t try,
I ‘xpect my eye-teeth every mail, so jest shet up,’ sez I. 
‘Don’t go to actin’ ugly now, or else I’ll let her strip,
You’d best draw kindly, seein’ ’z how I’ve gut ye on the hip; 170
Besides, you darned ole fool, it aint no gret of a disaster
To be benev’lently druv back to a contented master,
Ware you hed Christian priv’ledges you don’t seem quite aware on,
Or you’d ha’ never run away from bein’ well took care on;
Ez fer kin’ treatment, wy, he wuz so fond on ye, he said,
He’d give a fifty spot right out, to git ye, ’live or dead;
Wite folks aint sot by half ez much; ’member I run away,
Wen I wuz bound to Cap’n Jakes, to Mattysqumscot Bay;
Don’ know him, likely?  Spose not; wal, the mean old codger went
An’ offered—­wut reward, think?  Wal, it worn’t no less ’n
  a cent.’ 180

Wal, I jest gut ’em into line, an’ druv ’em on afore me;
The pis’nous brutes, I’d no idee o’ the ill-will they bore me;
We walked till som’ers about noon, an’ then it grew so hot
I thought it best to camp awile, so I chose out a spot
Jest under a magnoly tree, an’ there right down I sot;
Then I unstrapped my wooden leg, coz it begun to chafe,
An’ laid it down ‘longside o’ me, supposin’ all wuz safe;
I made my darkies all set down around me in a ring,
An’ sot an’ kin’ o’ ciphered up how much the lot would bring;
But, wile I drinked the peaceful cup of a pure heart an’ min’ 190