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Home > Authors Index > Browse all available works of William Henry Drummond > Text of Pride

A poem by William Henry Drummond

Pride

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Title:     Pride
Author: William Henry Drummond [More Titles by Drummond]

Ma fader he spik to me long ago,
"Alphonse, it is better go leetle slow,
Don't put on de style if you can't afford,
But satisfy be wit' your bed an' board.
De bear wit' hees head too high alway,
Know not'ing at all till de trap go smash.
An' mooshrat dat 's swimmin' so proud to-day
Very often to-morrow is on de hash." [1]

Edouard de Seven of Angleterre,
An' few oder place beside,
He 's got de horse an' de carriage dere
W'enever he want to ride.
Wit' sojer in front to clear de way,
Sojer behin' all dress so gay,
Ev'rywan makin' de grand salaam,
An' plaintee o' ban' playin' all de tam

Edouard de Seven of Angleterre,
All he has got to do,
W'en he 's crossin' de sea, don't matter w'ere,
Is call for de ship an' crew.
Den hois' de anchor from down below,
Vive le Roi! an' away she go,
An' flag overhead, w'en dey see dat sight
W'ere is de nation don't be polite?

An' dere 's de boss of United State,
An' w'at dey call Philippine--
De Yankee t'ink he was somet'ing great,
An' beeg as de king or queen--
So dey geev' heem a house near touch de sky,
An' paint it so w'ite it was blin' de eye
An' long as he 's dere beginnin' to en',
Don't cos' heem not'ing for treat hees frien'.

So dere 's two feller, Edouard de King
An' Teddy Roos-vel' also,
No wonder dey 're proud, for dey got few t'ing
Was helpin' dem mak' de show--
But oh! ma Gosh! w'en you talk of pride
An' w'at dey call style, an' puttin' on side,
W'ere is de man can go before
De pig-sticker champion of Ste. Flore?

Use to be nice man too, dey say,
Jeremie Bonami,
Talk wit' hees frien' in a frien'ly way
Sam' as you'se'f an' me--
Of course it 's purty beeg job he got,
An' no wan expec' heem talk a lot,
But still would n't hurt very moche, I 'm sure,
If wance in a w'ile he 'd say, "Bonjour."

Yi! Yi! to see heem come down de hill
Some mornin' upon de fall,
W'en de pig is fat an' ready to kill,
He don't know hees frien' at all--
Look at hees face an' it seem to say,
"Important duty I got to-day,
Killin' de pig on de contree side,--
Is n't dat some reason for leetle pride?"

Lissen de small boy how dey shout
W'en Jeremie 's marchin' t'roo
De market place wit' hees cane feex out
Wit' ribbon red, w'ite an' blue--
An' den he jomp on de butcher's block,
An' affer de crowd is stop deir talk,
An' leetle boy holler no more "Hooray,"
Dis is de word Jeremie he say--

"I 'm de only man on de w'ole Ste. Flore
Can kill heem de pig jus' right,
Please t'ink of dat, an' furdermore
Don't matter it 's day or night,
Can do it less tam, five dollar I bet,
Dan any pig-sticker you can get
From de w'ole of de worl', to w'ere I leev'--
Will somebody help to roll up ma sleeve?

"Some feller challenge jus' here an' dere,
An' more on deir own contree,
But me--I challenge dem ev'ryw'ere
All over de worl'--sapree!
To geev' dem a chance, for dere might be some
Beeg feller, for all I know,
But if dey 're ready, wall! let dem come,
An' me--I 'm geevin' dem plaintee show."

Challenge lak dat twenty year or more
He 's makin' it ev'ry fall,
But never a pig-sticker come Ste. Flore
'Cos Jeremie scare dem all--
No wonder it 's makin' heem feel so proud,
Even Emperor Germanie
Can't put on de style or talk more loud
Dan Jeremie Bonami.

But Jeremie's day can't las' alway,
An' so he commence to go
W'en he jomp on de block again an' say
To de crowd stan'nin' dere below,
"Lissen, ma frien', to de word I spik,
For I 'm tire of de challenge until I 'm sick,
Can't say, but mebbe I 'll talk no more
For glory an' honor of ole Ste. Flore.

"I got some trouble aroun' ma place
Wit' ma nice leetle girl Rosine,
An' I see w'en I 'm lookin' on all de face,
You 're knowin' jus' w'at I mean--
Very easy to talk, but w'en dey come
For seein' her twenty young man ba Gum!
I tole you ma frien', it was purty tough,
'Sides wan chance in twenty is not enough--

"Now lissen to me, all you young man
Is wantin' ma girl Rosine--
I offer a chance an' you 'll understan'
It 's bes' you was never seen--
Tree minute start I 'll geev'--no more--
An' if any young feller upon Ste. Flore
Can beat me stickin' de pig nex' fall,
Let heem marry ma girl Rosine--dat 's all."

All right--an' very nex' week he start,
De smartes' boy of de lot--
An' he 's lovin' Rosine wit' all hees heart,
De young Adelard Marcotte--
Don't say very moche about w'ere he go,
But I t'ink mese'f it was Buffalo--
An' plaintee more place on de State dat's beeg
W'ere he don't do not'ing but stick de pig.

So of course he 's pickin' de fancy trick
An' ev'ryt'ing else dey got--
Work over tam--but he got homesick
De young Adelard Marcotte
Jus' about tam w'en de fall come along---
So den he wissle hees leetle song
An' buy tiquette for de ole Ste. Flore,
An' back on de village he come some more.

Ho! Ho! ma Jeremie Bonami,
Get ready you'se'f to-day,
For you got beeg job you was never see
Will tak' all your breat' away--
"Come on! come on!" dey be shoutin' loud,
De Bishop hese'f could n't draw de crowd
Of folk on de parish for mile aroun',
Till dey could n't fin' place upon de groun'.

Hi! Hi! Jeremie, you may sweat an' swear,
Your tam is arrive at las'--
Dere 's no use pullin' out all your hair
Or drinkin' de w'isky glass--
Spit on your han' or hitch de pants--
You 'll never have anyt'ing lak a chance,
Hooraw! Hooraw! let her go wance more,
An' Adelard 's champion of all Ste. Flore!

"Away on de pump!" de crowd is yell,
"No use for heem goin' die."
Dey nearly drown Jeremie on de well
But he 's comin' roun' bimeby
Rosine dat 's laughin' away all day
Is startin' to cry, an' den she say--
"O fader dear, won't you geev' me kiss
For I never s'pose it would come to dis?

"Don't blame de boy over dere, 't was me
Dat sen' away Adelard--
He 's sorry for beat you, I 'm sure, ba oui,
An' dat 's w'at I 'm cryin' for--
'Cos it 's all ma fault you was lick to-day,
Don't care w'at anywan else can say--
But remember too, an' you 'll not forget
De championship 's still on de familee yet."
An' de ole man smile.


[1] Old proverb of Ste. Flore.


[The end]
William Henry Drummond's poem: Pride

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