Do co’n ’ll be ready ‘g’inst dumplin’ day—­
Dat sun’s a slantin’;
But nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay—­
Dat sun’s a slantin’;
Same ez de bee-martin watchin’ un de jay—­
Dat sun’s a slantin’;
Dat sun’s a slantin’ en a slippin’ away! 
Den it’s rise up, Primus! en gin it turn strong;
De cow’s gwine home wid der ding-dang-dong—­
Sling in anudder tetch er de ole-time song: 
Good-night, Mr. Whipperwill! don’t stay long! 
—­Mr. Whipperwill! don’t stay long! 
—­Don’t stay long!

V. CHRISTMAS PLAY-SONG (MYRICK PLACE, PUTNAM COUNTY 1858.)

Hi my rinktum!  Black gal sweet,
Same like goodies w’at de w’ite folks eat;
Ho my Riley! don’t you take’n tell ’er name,
En den ef sumpin’ happen you won’t ketch de blame;
Hi my rinktum! better take’n hide yo’ plum;
Joree don’t holler eve’y time he fine a wum. 
Den it’s hi my rinktum! 
Don’t git no udder man;
En it’s ho my Riley! 
Fetch out Miss Dilsey Ann!

Ho my Riley!  Yaller gal fine;
She may be yone but she oughter be mine! 
Hi my rinktum!  Lemme git by,
En see w’at she mean by de cut er dat eye! 
Ho my Riley! better shet dat do’—­
De w’ite folks ‘ll bleeve we er t’arin up de flo’.

Den it’s ho my Riley! 
Come a siftin’ up ter me! 
En it’s hi my rinktum! 
Dis de way ter twis’ yo’ knee!

Hi my rinktum!  Ain’t de eas’ gittin’ red? 
De squinch owl shiver like he wanter go ter bed;
Ho my Riley! but de gals en de boys,
Des now gittin’ so dey kin sorter make a noise. 
Hi my rinktum! let de yaller gal lone;
Niggers don’t hanker arter sody in de pone. 
Den it’s hi my rinktum! 
Better try anudder plan;
An’ it’s ho my Riley! 
Trot out Miss Dilsey Ann!

Ho my Riley!  In de happy Chris’mus time
De niggers shake der cloze a huntin’ for a dime. 
Hi my rinktum!  En den dey shake der feet,
En greaze derse’f wid de good ham meat. 
Ho my Riley! dey eat en dey cram,
En bimeby ole Miss ‘ll be a sendin’ out de dram. 
Den it’s ho my Riley! 
You hear dat, Sam! 
En it’s hi my rinktum! 
Be a sendin’ out de dram!

VI.  PLANTATION PLAY-SONG (PUTNAM COUNTY—­1856.)

HIT’S a gittin’ mighty late, w’en de Guinny-hins squall,
En you better dance now, ef you gwineter dance a tall,
Fer by dis time termorrer night you can’t hardly crawl,
Kaze you’ll hatter take de hoe ag’in en likewise de maul—­
Don’t you hear dat bay colt a kickin’ in his stall? 
Stop yo’ humpin’ up yo’ sho’lders do! 
Dat’ll never do!  Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo! 
Hit takes a heap er scrougin’
For ter git you thoo—­
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!