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Paul Laurence Dunbar - The Party
Work rating: Medium

DEY had a gread big pahty down to Tom`s de othah night;
Was I dah? You bet! I neveh in my life see sich a sight;
All de folks f`om fou` plantations was invited, an` dey come,
Dey come troopin` thick ez chillun when dey hyeahs a fife an` drum.
Evahbody dressed deir fines`— Heish yo` mouf an` git away,
Ain`t seen no sich fancy dressin` sence las` quah`tly meetin` day;
Gals all dressed in silks an` satins, not a wrinkle ner a crease,
Eyes a-battin`, teeth a-shinin`, haih breashed back ez slick ez grease;
Sku`ts all tucked an` puffed an` ruffled, evah blessed seam an` stitch;
Ef you`d seen `em wif deir mistus, coul n`t swahed to which was which.
Men all dressed up in Prince Alberts, swaller-tails `u`d tek yo` bref!
I cain`t tell you nothin` `bout it, y` ought to seen it fu` yo`se`f.
Who was dah? Now who you askin`? How you `spect I gwine to know?
You mus` think I stood an` coutned evahbody at de do.`
Ole man Babah`s house-boy Isaac, brung dat gal, Malindy Jane,
Huh a-hangin` to his elbow, him a-struttin` wif a cane;
My, but Hahvey Jones was jealous! seemed to stick him lak a tho`n;
But he laughed with Viney Cahteh, tryin` ha`d to not let on,
But a pusson would `a` noticed f`om de d`rection of his look,
Dat he was watchin` ev`ry step dat Ike an` Lindy took.
Ike he foun` a cheer an` asked huh: "Won`t you set down?" wif a smile,
An` she answe`d up a-bowin`, "Oh, I reckon `t ain`t wuth while."
Dat was jes` fu` style I reckon, `cause she sot down jes` de same,
An` she stayed dah `twell he fetched huh fu` to jine some so`t o` game;
Den I hyeahd huh sayin` propah, ez she riz to go away,
"Oh, you raly mus` excuse me, fu` I hardly keers to play."
But I seen huh in a minute wif de othahs on de flo`,
An` dah was n`t any one o` dem a-playin` any mo`;
Comin` down de flo` a-bowin` an` a-swayin` an` a-swingin`,
Puttin` on huh high-toned mannahs all de time dat she was singin`;
"Oh, swing Johnny up an` down, swing him all aroun`,
Swing Johnny up an` down, swing him all aroun`,
Oh, swing Johnny up an` down, swing him all aroun`,
Fa` you well, my dahlin`."
Had to laff at ole man Johnson, he`s a caution now, you bet—
Hittiin` clost onto a hunderd, but he`s spry an` nimble yet;
He `lowed how a-so`t o-gigglin`, "I ain`t ole, I`ll let you see,
D`ain`t no use in gittin` feeble, now you youngstahs jes` watch me,"
An` he grabbed ole Aunt Marier— weighs th`ee hunderd mo` er less,
An` he spun huh `roun` de cabin swingin` Johnny lak de res`.
Evahbody laffed an` hollahed: "Go it! Swing huh, Uncle Jim!"
An` he swung huh too, I reckon, lak a youngstah, who but him.
Dat was bettah`n young Scott Thomas, tryin` to be so awful smaht.
You know when dey gits to singin` an` dey comes to dat ere paht:
          "In some lady`s new brick house,
          In some lady`s gyahden.
          Ef you don`t let me out, I will jump out,
          So fa` you well, my dahlin`."
Den dey`s got a circle `roun` you, an` you`s got to break de line;
Well, dat dahky was so anxious, lak to bust hisse`f a-tryin`;
Kep` on blund`rin` `roun` an` foolin` `twell he giv` one gread big jump,
Broke de line, an lit head-fo`most in de fiah-place right plump;
Hit `ad fiah in it, mind you; well, I thought my soul I`d bust,
Tried my best to keep f`om laffin`, but hit seemed like die I must!
Y` ought to seen dat man a-scramblin` f`om de ashes an` de grime.
Did it bu`n him! Sich a question, why he did n`t give it time;
Th`ow`d dem ashes and dem cindahs evah which-a-way I guess,
An` you nevah did, I reckon, clap yo` eyes on sich a mess;
Fu` he sholy made a picter an` a funny one to boot,
Wif his clothes all full o` ashes an` his face all full o` soot.
Well, hit laked to stopped de pahty, an` I reckon lak ez not
Dat it would ef Tom`s wife, Mandy, had n`t happened on de spot,
To invite us out to suppah — well, we scrambed to de table,
An` I`d lak to tell you ` `bout it — what we had — but I ain`t able,
Mention jes` a few things, dough I know I had n`t orter,
Fu` I know `t will staht a hank`rin` an` yo` muouf`ll `mence to worter.
We had wheat bread white ez cotton an` a egg pone jues like gol`,
Hog jole, bilin` hot an` steamin` roasted shoat an` ham sliced cold —
Look out! What`s de mattah wif you? Don`t be fallin` on de flo`;
Ef it`s go`n` to `fect you dat way, I won`t tell you nothin` mo`.
Dah now — well, we had hot chttlin`s — now you`s tryin` ag `in to fall,
Cain`t you stan` to hyeah about it? S`pose you`d been an` seed it all;
Seed dem gread big sweet pertaters, layin` by de possum`s side,
Seed dat coon in all his gravy, reckon den you`d up and died!
Mandy `lowed "you all mus` `scuse me, d` wa`n`t much upon my she`ves,
But I`s done my bes`, to suit you, so set down an` he`p yo`se`ves."
Tom, he `lowed: "I don`t b`lieve in `pologisin` an` perfessin`,
Let `em tek it lak dey ketch it. Eldah Thomspon, ask de blessin`."
Wish you`d seed dat colo`ed preachah cleah his th`oat an` bow his head;
One eye shet, an` one eye open, — dis is evah wud he said:
"Lawd, look down in tendah mussy on sich generous hea`ts ez des;
Make us truly thankful, amen. Pass dat possum, ef you please!"
Well, we eat and drunk ouah po`tion, `twell dah wasn`t nothin` lef,
An` we felt jes` like new sausage, we was mos` nigh stuffed to def!
Tom, he knowed how we`d be feelin`, so he had de fiddlah `roun`,
An` he made us cleah de cabin fu` to dance dat suppah down.
Jim, de fiddlah, chuned his fiddle, put some rosum on his bow,
Set a pine box on de table, mounted it an` let huh go!
He`s a fiddlah, now I tell you, an` he made dat fiddle ring,
`Twell de ol`est an` de lamest had to give deir feet a fling.
Jigs, cotillions, reels, an` breakdowns, cordrills an` a waltz er two;
Bless yo` soul, dat music winged `em an` dem people lak to flew.
Cripple Joe, de old rheumatic, danced dat flo` f`om side to middle,
Th`owed away his crutch an` hopped it; what`s rheumatics `ginst a fiddle?
Eldah Thompson got so tickled dat he lak to los` his grace,
Had to tek bofe feet an` hol` dem so`s to keep `em in deir place.
An` de Christuns an` de sinnahs got so mixed up on dat flo`,
Dat I don`t see how dey`d pahted ef de trump had chanced to blow.
Well, we danced dat way an` capahed in de mos` redic`lous way,
`Twell de roostahs in de bahnyard cleahed deir th`oats an` crowed fu` day.
Y` ought to been dah, fu` I tell you evahthing was rich an` prime,
An` dey ain`t no use in talkin`, we jes had one scrumptious time!
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