Part 4

_Pete._ Dat’s so. [_They retire R. and L., and producing imitation bricks throw them at the cottage. Music soft_; Pete _and_ Ike _retire R. and L. Enter_ Rebecca _and_ Clara _from cottage. Pick up bricks._

_Reb._ Oh, it’s a shame?

_Clara._ Dat’s what I say; it’s a shame. De idea ob dose dog-goned niggers throwing a quarry at de house to make us aware of deir whereabouts.

_Reb._ Oh, it wasn’t your lover dat trew da brick; you needn’t growl.

_Clara._ No, I don’t tink it was; I guess it must ha’ been your Pete; he’s so strong he could trow it wif his breff. Dere!

[_She throws the brick at_ Rebecca’s _foot_. Rebecca _hits her on the head with the brick she had. They each pick up the bricks to throw them at each other, when_ Pete _and_ Ike _appear_. Rebecca _and_ Clara _spy them and throw the bricks at them, hitting them_. Pete _and_ Ike _howl and retire_.

_Clara._ Ha--ha! did you see me hit him?

_Reb._ I guess dat ought to teach dem to be more civil to deir superiors.

_Clara._ Yes; dey said dey’d gib us de grand surprise. I don’t tink dey did.

_Reb._ (_Tearfully._) Yes; but I forgib dem. You know how I love Peter Holloway. [_Covers her face with apron._

_Clara._ (_Clasping her._) ’Deed I do, Rebecca. I can sympathize with you. [Rebecca _cries loudly_.] Listen to ecstasy, Rebecca. Wake up, chile. Rouse yo’self.

[Rebecca _wipes her eyes, and both bend low, listening to the music. They walk around with hands upraised, and advance to stage front, singing the following_:

Oh, we’re in love wid two spruce darkies, Who ebry night at de hour ob nine, Do wend deir way unto our homestead; An’ to-night dey are both on time; Dey call us dear and tender names, In de canebrake down by yonder lane; By deir handsome forms an’ winning ways, We’re “gone,” but we are not to blame.

_Chorus._

Den hearken to de music’s rapture, For a dance our feet begin to ache, An’ since of us dose coons make a capture, We’ll show you how to make a break.

[_Dance._

[_Meanwhile_ Pete _and_ Ike _come on and make remarks on the dancing. At the end of dance the girls spy the negroes and angrily walk towards them._ Pete _and_ Ike _produce large razors and chase the girls. They shout, and_ Clara _dives through window of cottage_, Rebecca _walking through the door_. Pete _and_ Ike _put up their razors and call for the girls; they at length come out slowly_.]

_Reb._ (_To_ Pete.) What for you try to carve me wid a razor, eh? Fo’ fifty dollahs I’d strike you so hard dat you wouldn’t eben hab time to dream of anoddah hen roost.

_Pete._ Who dreams about hen-roosts, eh? I tink I know considerable ob your private experience, anyway. I guess as how I know who took de duck eggs from Jim Barker’s hen coop. You can’t teach me ’bout de honesty ob some people.

_Reb._ Well, I can learn to forgib you, Pete Holloway; but I advise you neber again to gib such an exasperating shock to my nerves. You know I’m tender.

[_They make up and clasp each other. Meanwhile_ Ike _and_ Clara _have not approached each other_.

_Clara._ (_Mildly._) I should neber hab tought it ob you, Ichabod Fitzsimmons, neber.

_Ike._ (_Excitedly._) Well, no one cares. I’m satisfied, if no one else is. I guess I can do as I please. Dar’s just as good coons in dis village as eber you were. I neber cared much fo’ de place, anyway.

[_Indignantly he proceeds to walk across and off the stage._ Clara _rushes at him, and knocking him down, puts her foot on him and flourishes a small (imitation) ax over him_. Pete _and_ Rebecca _run towards her, and take the ax from her. They form a tableau._ Ike _exclaims tragically_: “_Saved--saved!_”

_Pete._ You deserved dat, an’ you came widin a hair’s breadth of gettin’ scalped. You’d better forgib her.

[_They make up, and joining arms walk R. and L. up the stage, and advance, and sing the following_:

_Reb._ Now, Pete, you mashed and dead gone nigger, Quit your foolin’ an’ join de rhyme.

_Pete._ Why, bless you, honey, I’m all attention, An’ willin’ to dance an’ keep in time.

_Clara._ Ichabod, say you love me still, And neber go back on your sugar plum.

[_They clasp._

_Ike._ Forgib me, honey, an’ take me to your bosom, For what we did was all in fun.

_R. & C._ Den join us in de song and dance, Whenever you may come around.

_All._ We’ll drive dull care by slinging our shoe, For dat is where we all grab ground.

_Chorus._

Den hearken to de music’s rapture, For a dance our shoes begin to shake, And since ob us you made a capture, We’ll execute a heavy break. (_Dance._)

[CURTAIN.]

THE RIVAL DARKEYS.

An Ethiopian Sketch.

BY C. D. BRANDT.

SCENE.--_A Street. Enter_ Pompey, _R. H., with saw and sawbuck_.

_Pompey._ Well, I has been trabblin’ up de street, and trabblin’ down de street, all day long, and hasn’t had a single job yet, and ain’t got de fust red cent. I do’ know how I’ll get a quarter to go to de grand bobilition ball to-night; dere isn’t much chance for a nigger to git any wood to saw dese hard times. Dare’s too many ob dem Dutch fellars dat ’nopolize de bisness--works under price, and all dat. Dat won’t do for dis child. I tink I’ll leabe de carpenter bisness fur a while, and maybe I may be ’pointed to de office ob inspector ob wood-sawyers. But I’se bound to go to de ball to-night, anyhow. [_Enter_ Jim Brown, _L. H., who walks across the stage past_ Pompey, _and is going off_. Pompey _sees him_.] Hello, Jim! How is you to-day?

_Jim._ Look here, colored man, don’t be too familiar, if you please. ’Tis accessory dat you should know one ting prebious to your succeeding any furder in your observations.

_Pom._ What is dat?

_Jim._ I will instruct you to know dat I hab been appointed to office. I am ’pointed trabblin’ agent fur de Bobilition Society.

_Pom._ Trabblin’ agent? Well, s’pose dat means to go afoot--ha--ha--ha--ha! Dare’s one ting mighty sartin, honey--you won’t trabble bery fast if you tote dem _heels_ wid you!

_Jim._ Look here, Pompey, I has always had considerable respect for you, ’cause I beliebe you has some literary ’quirements; but you ’sociates too much wid dem low class ob white folks. You see, I’se one ob dem kind ob colored indiwiduals who tinks dat a white man’s just as good as a nigger so long as he behabe himself.

_Pom._ De Lord!--has you spoke? Jim, I guess you changed yer ’pinion de odder night when dat white fellar knocked you off de sidewalk.

_Jim._ Yes, I have a striking remembrance. I sued dat fellar, I did; and if I’d had a good witness, dey would ha’ fined him for manslaughter.

_Pom._ Ha! ya! Honey, I was to de trial, and I seed mighty soon how ’twas a goin’ wid _you_. When de judge axed de fellar what knocked you down: “What for you knocked dat colored man down?” de man didn’t say noffin, but he gib de judge de sign; and when I seed dat, I knowed he was one ob dem mason fellars; and when he gib de judge de high sign, de judge let him go free gratis fur noffin’. Look here, Jim, you goin’ to de bobolition ball to-night?

_Jim._ Yes, sir; widout prevarication.

_Pom._ Well, I s’pose you will take some ob de fair sex wid you?

_Jim._ Yes, sah; I will hab de extreme honor of perambulating dar wid de lubly Miss Araminta Peachblossom.

_Pom._ I s’pose de young lady will take her heels wid her, won’t she? Just you take my advice, Mr. Jim Brown, and when you’re dancing, jus’ mind how you swing dem comers, or you’ll trip up eberybody dat comes widin free feet ob you. Ha, yah! [_Exit laughing, L. H._ Jim _is going off, R. H., when he is met by some negroes, who thrust him off, L. H., crying: “Come, go ’long; we is gwine to de ball, we is!”_

SCENE II.--_Another Street, or a Park, with set House, L. H._

[_Enter_ Jim, _R. H., with banjo_.

_Jim._ Hang dese low niggers! dey are always in de way ob dere superiors. [_Looks at his watch._] My gracious! it’s nearly time to get ready fur de ball; so I’ll just slamanade Miss Araminta a little before I go.

[_Sings._ AIR.--“_Oh, hush._”

Lubly Araminta, Brown is come, And sings to you with his thrum, tum; So open de door an’ let me in, For de way I love you is a sin! Clar de kitchen, old folks, young folks, etc.

[Araminta _appears at a window and sings_.

Dandy Jim, when last we parted, You to me did prove false-hearted; It’s Whitewash Sall you want to see, And she ain’t one bit better than me. Clar de kitchen, etc., etc.

[_Scene changes, as_ Jim _is kneeling and_ Araminta _is closing the window to a plain room_.

[_Enter_ Pompey, _L. H., cautiously_.

_Pom._ Nobody here--dat’s good. Ha--ha! golly, I got into dis ball pooty cheap. I come up to de door, and I didn’t see nobody dar; so I toted myself right in. Dar’s nobody come yet, so I’ll just sing a little.

[_Sings._ AIR.--“_Brave Old Black Oak._”

A grin fur de oak, de ole black oak, Who’s trunk I’se sawed so long; Here’s a laugh all round, for his skin so brown, An’ his forty-five legs so strong, He shakes all round When he’s chopped down, An’ de coons cut dirt all about; He gives fire an’ light Ob a long cold night, When de old nor-easters shout.

_Pom._ (_Voices heard outside._) Hello! here comes de guests to de ball. I’ll just step out ob de way, until some ob dem come in. [_Exit R. H. Enter a number of wenches and sing; then_ Pompey _comes in_.] How are you gen’lemen and ladies? I hope I see you all ’joyin’ good health. [_Looks off, R. H._] Hello! here comes Mr. Jim Brown, Esquire, as he told me to call him; and he’s got Miss Peachblossom wid him.

[_Enter_ Jim Brown _and_ Araminta. _They are the bon-ton; all the characters bow to them, and shake hands after business. Four dance, etc._

_Jim Brown._ [_To_ Pompey.] Pompey, I tole you once dat I was a fernologist.

_Pom._ A what?

_Jim._ A fernologist.

_Pom._ What’s dat?

_Jim._ Tell de bumps on de head.

_Pom._ No! but are you?

_Jim._ Yes, sir. Just you sit down and I’ll ’zamine you.

_Pom._ Bery well. [_Sits in C._

_Jim._ All ready?

_Pom._ Yes.

[_Recites the following lecture_:

_Jim._ You know as the tree is bent so is the twig inclined. In de fus place, fustly, dis little nigga’s head am like a monkey’s, only de monkey’s head am much littler dan dis, and dis am as much biggerer dan de monkey’s, consequently dey must both be ob de same size. In de fust place, secondly, I’se gwan as far forward as de back part ob de head, dat dey call de frontal bone; ’tain’t because it is all bone--oh, no, ’tain’t that--but because it is as far from de mouf as de calf of de shin, and dat is why dey call it de frontal bone. Dar--dar, dar’s a bump; dat’s what dey call de bump of combativeness; under dat bump dere is a large bladder ob dandriff, and when de nigga gets a little ’zaggerated, de bladder splodes; de cold air rushes into de vacum, and de nigga gradually subsides into his former situation. Dar, dar’s anoder bump--oh, golly, what a big bump!--dat’s what dey call de bump ob music; any nigga dat has dat bump any way permanent or largely deweloped, can play any tune on de fiddle--dat is, if he know’d how to play it afore. And now I hope I’ve satisfied you dat I know something about dis science. For de present, _Ecce sigmum, hoc vobis cum, quantum suff_.

_Pom._ Well, you can suffer just as much as you please, but I won’t let you make me suffer; so just take dat!

[_Hits_ Jim.

_Jim._ A blow! and from a low wood-sawyer!

_Pom._ Yes, sir-ee! And dar’s anoder! [_Both fight._ Pompey _floors_ Jim; _wenches faint, and a regular Sixth Ward fight all around, as the curtain goes down_.

POLITICS.

A Rattling Irish Farce.

CHARACTERS.

PATRICK GRADY, DENIS HALLORAHAN, BRIDGET GRADY.

SCENE.--_Ordinary room. Tables and chairs, L. Wash-tub, C, by door. Cradle, R, and churn. Curtain rises. Discloses_ Bridget _at table_.

_Bridget._ Shure, an’ it’s the terrible loife I’m lading. There’s me husband, Patrick Grady, always off av a night to Casey’s, getting blind drunk, an’ rowling an’ cavortin’ a home in the morning, a swearing that he’s in wid the gang, an’ that they’re goin’ for to run him for alderman. A foine alderman it is that he will make, with his shirt paping out av his coat, an’ divil a sock to his fut. Faith, I belave he’s goin’ ter the bad, intirely. He’s gettin’ so mighty high chuned av late that he’ll soon be a riding down town in a stage, instead av standing on the rear end av a truck. Oh, bad cess to the day that ivir I married him.

[_Enter_ Denis.

_Den._ Well, Bridget?

_Brid._ It isn’t well at all, brother Denis.

_Den._ Where’s Patrick?

_Brid._ Ax me something aisier. Down to Casey’s, I suppose, setting on top av a beer keg an’ swaring that he’s the man that’s going to put Cleveland out av the White House.

_Den._ On a drunk again?

_Brid._ Whin isn’t he on a drunk? Shure I’d be afther fearing that he was ill if he should come home sober.

_Den._ It’s a bad business, Bridget.

_Brid._ Ye are right. Ye see he’s got his head crammed wid politics.

_Den._ Politics, is it?

_Brid._ Yis; he went an’ pawned the stove to raise a banner wid. Shure he thinks that he’ll be Congressman afore long, an’ ruin the prospects av his childer intirely.

_Den._ Will he be home soon?

_Brid._ I’m expecting him every moment. Oh, Denny, I wish ye would rayson wid him.

_Den._ So I will, Bridget. His conduct, be heaven, is scandalous in the extreme!

_Brid._ But don’t be too hard wid him. Patrick manes well.

_Den._ I’ll thrate him dacent. [_Aside._] I’ll kick the devil’s left lung out av him if he gives me any av his unpolite conversation.

[_Noise outside. Enter_ Patrick, _staggering. Throws hat on floor, and reels front._

_Pat._ May I inquire, Missus Grady, who’s a been putting grease on the front piazzy?

_Brid._ Nobody, Patrick.

_Pat._ (_Severely._) Don’t yer lie to me, Missus Grady. I may be suffering undher a fit av despair, but I am not drunk, and I have me feelings. Shure, an’ I fell complately down on that front piazzy.

_Brid._ Ye don’t know what ye are saying, Patrick.

_Pat._ (_Looking at_ Denis.) How long since you have been buying cigar signs to stick up in your drawing-room, Missus Grady?

_Brid._ Why, that’s your brother Denis.

_Pat._ (_Advancing._) Faith, an’ it is! Denny, me boy, give me your flipper. Have ye a Henry Mud consaled wid you?

_Den._ I don’t smoke.

_Pat._ Yer don’t? Yer a Murphyite, are ye? An’ may I ax what sent ye here?

_Brid._ He heard what a drunken husband his sister had, and he came down to see about it.

_Pat._ Ah--ha! he did? Well, it’s my opinion, Missus Grady, that he’s drunk as an owl himself, and isn’t agreeable company for gintlemin like mesilf.

_Den._ I never drink, an’ it would be better, Patrick, if you never touched the whisky.

_Pat._ Nayther I do. It’s a nob that I am. A gallon bottle of dam shame, an’ put it down on the slate.

_Den._ Well, I mane it would be a dale better if ye left alcoholic stimulants alone.

_Pat._ Alcoholic stimulants, is it? Missus Grady, are ye aware that yer brother spakes Frinch? It’s the great temperance man that he is who praches for love an’ not money.

_Den._ But, Patrick, think av the shame it causes your wife for you to walk home intoxicated every night av your life.

_Pat._ I niver walk home. Bedad Assemblyman Murphy pushed me around to me residence this avening in his barouche--he peddles oranges out av it in the daytime. Ah, the assemblyman’s a great man. He’s got a pull in the ward, and he’s going to get me a political job a kaping the sparrows from flying away wid the City Hall.

_Den._ But your wife and children are a-starving in the manewhile.

_Brid._ That’s so, Patrick.

_Pat._ Will yer shut up, Bridget? yer want ice-crame and sponge cake fer lunch, I suppose. The next thing yer’ll be sinding out afther broiled quail in a box afther yer get to bed. It’s too toney, you’re getting, entirely.

_Den._ Is that the way to spake to your wife?

_Pat._ Whose wife is she?

_Den._ Yours, worse luck; but she’s my sister.

_Pat._ Shure, it wasn’t her fault, poor thing. Perhaps yer would be plased to have me buy her a pianny an’ get her a velocipede to amuse herself wid while I’m at work?

_Den._ You’re drunk, Patrick, and yer can’t see me argyment.

_Brid._ That’s thrue.

_Pat._ Will ye be still, Bridget? I’m drunk, am I, Mister Hallorahan? Av coorse I am; it’s elated wid joy that I am, because of the war in Europe. It’s agoin’ to mend the times in this country, an’ we’ll all git paid for being gentlemen, every man of us. Oh, I have the head for a senator.

_Brid._ You’re looney, Pat.

_Pat._ Missus Grady, if ye don’t shut up I’ll be forced to be on the lookout fur another wife, on account av yer suddent death.

_Brid._ Patrick, your cruel words will drive me wild with grief.

_Pat._ Thin we’ll send ye to play Hamlet.

_Den._ Talk gently to your wife, Pat; she’s a woman.

_Pat._ Yer don’t mane it. Well, did yer imagine I didn’t know that? I have frequent opportunities av seeing women afore. There’s Widow Leary, for occasion.

_Brid._ Widdy Leary, she’s a fine crathur! A female skeleton, that paints herself up like a brick house, an’ hasn’t the shape av a barrel.

_Pat._ The Widow Leary recognizes a fine man when she sees him. She tould Father Riordan that I had the natest fut av any man for blocks around.

_Brid._ She did, did she?

_Pat._ I’m a givin’ it to ye wid directness, Bridget.

_Brid._ When I catch her I’ll kill her. Thrying to intice me lawful wedded husband away, the cork-legged ould scarecrow.

_Pat._ That will do. Ye ought to be elated to think that ye have sich a voluptuous-appearing husband, and ought to be continted to humor him, especially whin he’s got sich influence wid the bys. Do ye know the “Garvey Musketeers,” Denis?

_Den._ Yis.

_Pat._ Shure, they’ve axed me to turn out wid them to carry their target instead of a nagur. Perhaps yer would condescind to ax me for a place in the post office now?

_Brid._ Are ye goin’ to turn out wid those blaggards?

_Pat._ Don’t yer be after alluding to the Garvey Musketeers as blaggards, Missus Grady. They are gintlemen; divil a wan av them works for a living.

_Brid._ They’re not off av the Island long enough.

_Pat._ Perhaps they are not cheeney enough for yer.

_Brid._ They’re a lot of rowdies, Pat. Why don’t you join the Father Matthy’s?

_Pat._ Would ye hear the woman? she’s putting on frills enough for an inspector’s wife. Wouldn’t yer like me to buy meself a little white apron an’ turn out wid the masons?

_Den._ Pat, can’t you listen to rayson?

_Pat._ Av coorse.

_Den._ Is it sensible or raysonable for you to be flying around wid the boys and laving your poor wife at home? Suppose some man should run off wid her.

_Pat._ Begorra, I’d jump on his chest till he spit blood, so I would.

_Den._ Now promise me you’ll stay at home more nights.

_Brid._ Yes, Pat, do, and jine the T. A. B’s.

_Pat._ Shure, Casey would drape his saloon in black if I did.

_Brid._ The curse of St. Patrick light on Casey. [_She rises and approaches_ Pat, _tickles him under the chin_.] Then, Patsey, darlint, sign the pledge.

_Pat._ But it will spoil me hould in the ward. Who ever heard av a temperance politician.

_Den._ Drop politics an’ stick to bricklaying, Pat.

_Pat._ Well, I believe I will. From this hour Pat Grady, Iskwire, drinks no more! [_Aside_--at his own expense.] Bridget, shoulder that broom an’ we’ll give the leddies an’ jintlemen in front “Sons of Temperance,” T. A. B., and yer, Denis, jine in the chorus.

(All form group at front of stage and sing. At end of song flat closes in.)

[THE END.]

LOVE AND POETRY.

A Short Burlesque.

BY HARRY MINER.

CHARACTERS.

HANNIS YORICK. LENA KRAUSE. BYRON LONGFELLOW SMITH.

SCENE.--Interior. _Tables, L. Two chairs, C. Door at rear._

[_Enter_ Lena, _R._ 1. _E._

_Lena._ Vell, at last the day’s vork vos done, the mistress has gone oud for the evening, an’ I haf the room to mineself. But I don’t better believe dot I vill haf it long, for there vos a leetle Dutch boy--vouldn’t he pe mad if he heard me call himself boy--who vos apt to drop in mit purpose by accident, to see me evenings, und I haf an idea dot he vill pe here right avay gwick pretty soon. I vonder vat he pring me--he alvays prings me sometings nice--de last dime it vos seven yards of sourkraut done up mit blue paper an’ a hay rope. I feel shust as light hearted as a rooster hen, an’ I guess dot I vill sing a leetle.

[_Sings._

AIR.--_Pretty as a Picture._

My heart vos gone, I vos all forlorn, Such a pretty boy has von me, Such a nobby boy, De Deitcher’s joy----

_Hannis._ (_Outside._) Lena.

_Lena._ Vell, Hannis.

_Han._ May I stay oud?

_Lena._ Of course. Open de latch, spring de door, an’ coom in.

[_Enter_ Hannis.

_Han._ Lena, you vos lookin’ as nice as a rosebud mit the catarrh.

_Lena._ Oh, Hannis!

_Han._ Dat vos drue. Vos dat you singing, Lena?

_Lena._ It vos.

_Han._ Vhy, I thought dat it was somebody shoveling coal. [Lena _hits him a slap in the face_. Hannis _makes a wry face_.

_Han._ There, you hab cracked the spine of my jaw.

_Lena._ Then vhy vill you dry to be funny? But come, sit down on yourself, Hannis.

_Han._ What on--a moonpeam?

_Lena._ On a chair, stupid. [_Brings chair to front of stage and both take seats._] Vot vos it you brought me?

_Han._ You like candy, Lena?

_Lena._ You know dot I do.

_Han._ Then what made you ask me? But it vosn’t candy. Candy vos unhealdy. So I hab brought you a dog.

_Lena._ A dog! vot vill I do mit a dog?

_Han._ Shoot him; you see he vos a nice dog; he vos the image of you.

_Lena._ Oh, Hannis!

_Han._ Und I thought dot mebbe you might wear him in your locket, or haf him stuffed into a pracelet or something like dot.

_Lena._ You vos joking.

_Han._ Shust you go und tell dot dog dot he vos a liar. You vill see vedder I vos joking.

_Lena._ An’ is a dog all dat you haf bringed me?

_Han._ No, Lena, I have brought you somedings else.

_Lena._ Vell, vot?

_Han._ I don’t vant to tell you.

_Lena._ Why not?

_Han._ You wud make fun of me, tell me dot I vos too fresh, und had petter go wash my mouth oud with salt.

_Lena._ No I von’t.

_Han._ Promise id.

_Lena._ Yes.

_Han._ Vell, dear, I vill gif mineself avay. Lena, you vos a nice leetle Yarman girl.

_Lena._ Dot fact vos gray-headed.

_Han._ Und, Lena, I lofe you.

_Lena._ Oh, my, vasn’t you ashamed.

_Han._ Yes, I vos plushing beneath my bosom protector. But for all dot I lofe you. Lena, nod----

[_Enter_ Byron Smith _L._ 2 _E. Stalks tragically forward. Halts and points finger at_ Hannis _and_ Lena.

_Byron._ Ha--ha! what is this that looms before my vision!

’Tis love’s young dream! ’Tis Cupid’s victory won. Two hearts with but a single thought, Two souls that beat as one!

_Han._ Is this a lunatic asylum, Lena?

_Lena_. Oh, no, dot vas only the poet dot board mit the mistress. How you vas dis evening, Mr. Smith?

_Byron._ Fair maiden, I stoop to kiss your snow-white hand.

_Han._ No, sir, not dis week. Dis vos my girl, I do all her kissing by gontract. Shust you mind your pisness and I’ll mind yours.

_Byron._ My nut-brown sylph, tell me, I pray, who this uncouth barbarian is?

_Han._ (_Jumping up._) Hold my coat, Lena.

_Lena._ Vot for?

_Han._ He has insulted you. I vill preak his fist wit mine head. He called you a nut-brown maid. You vas a white Dutch girl. By Shumping Shadrach I will pull out his teeth with mine boot.

_Lena._ Shust you sit on an ice-box, Hannis, he means no harm.

_Byron._ You are right, my starry-eyed gazelle.

_Han._ Vhy don’t you call her a plack-eyed camel, und be done wid id?

_Byron._ Presumptuous meddler, I am a poet.

Away with dross, with sordid gold, I would not be a miser old; But with my pen, my rapid pen, I’m sure I’ll charm the hearts of men!

_Han._ Haf you been drinking vhisky, my friendt?

_Lena._ Don’t make fun of him, Hannis; dot vos peyewtiful poetry.