Then a cup to Cupid daring,
  Who for conquest ever faring,
  With his arrows dares assail
  E’en a doctor’s coat of mail.

  So with blithe and happy hymning
  And with harmless goblets brimming,
  Dance a step—­musicians play—­
  Doctor Dan doth wed to-day.

WHAT’S THE USE

  What’s the use o’ folks a-frownin’
     When the way’s a little rough? 
  Frowns lay out the road fur smilin’
     You’ll be wrinkled soon enough. 
        What’s the use?

  What’s the use o’ folks a-sighin’? 
     It’s an awful waste o’ breath,
  An’ a body can’t stand wastin’
     What he needs so bad in death. 
        What’s the use?

  What’s the use o’ even weepin’? 
     Might as well go long an’ smile. 
  Life, our longest, strongest arrow,
     Only lasts a little while. 
        What’s the use?

A LAZY DAY

  The trees bend down along the stream,
     Where anchored swings my tiny boat. 
  The day is one to drowse and dream
     And list the thrush’s throttling note. 
  When music from his bosom bleeds
  Among the river’s rustling reeds.

  No ripple stirs the placid pool,
     When my adventurous line is cast,
  A truce to sport, while clear and cool,
     The mirrored clouds slide softly past. 
  The sky gives back a blue divine,
  And all the world’s wide wealth is mine.

  A pickerel leaps, a bow of light,
  The minnows shine from side to side. 
  The first faint breeze comes up the tide—­
  I pause with half uplifted oar,
  While night drifts down to claim the shore.

ADVICE

  W’en you full o’ worry
     ‘Bout yo’ wo’k an’ sich,
  W’en you kind o’ bothered
     Case you can’t get rich,
  An’ yo’ neighboh p’ospah
     Past his jest desu’ts,
  An’ de sneer of comerds
     Stuhes yo’ heaht an’ hu’ts,
  Des don’ pet yo’ worries,
     Lay ’em on de she’f,
  Tek a little trouble
     Brothah, wid yo’se’f.

  Ef a frien’ comes mou’nin’
     ’Bout his awful case,
  You know you don’ grieve him
     Wid a gloomy face,
  But you wrassle wid him,
     Try to tek him in;
  Dough hit cracks yo’ features,
     Law, you smile lak sin,
  Ain’t you good ez he is? 
     Don’ you pine to def;
  Tek a little trouble
     Brothah, wid yo’se’f.

  Ef de chillun pestahs,
     An’ de baby’s bad,
  Ef yo’ wife gits narvous,
     An’ you’re gettin’ mad,
  Des you grab yo’ boot-strops,
     Hol’ yo’ body down,
  Stop a-tinkin’ cuss-w’rds,
     Chase away de frown,
  Knock de haid o’ worry,
     Twell dey ain’ none lef’;
  Tek a little trouble,
     Brothah, wid yo’se’f.

LIMITATIONS