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Paul Laurence Dunbar - Dat Ol` Mare O` Mine
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Want to trade me, do you, mistah? Oh, well, now, I reckon not,
  W`y you could n`t buy my Sukey fu` a thousan` on de spot.
      Dat ol` mare o` mine?
  Yes, huh coat ah long an` shaggy, an` she ain`t no shakes to see;
  Dat`s a ring-bone, yes, you right, suh, an` she got a on`ry knee,
  But dey ain`t no use in talkin`, she de only hoss fu` me,
      Dat ol` mare o` mine.

  Co`se, I knows dat Suke `s contra`y, an` she moughty ap` to vex;
  But you got to mek erlowance fu` de nature of huh sex;
      Dat ol` mare o` mine.
  Ef you pull her on de lef han`; she plum `termined to go right,
  A cannon could n`t skeer huh, but she boun` to tek a fright
  At a piece o` common paper, or anyt`ing whut`s white,
      Dat ol` mare o` mine.

  Wen my eyes commence to fail me, dough, I trus`es to huh sight,
  An` she `ll tote me safe an` hones` on de ve`y da`kes` night,
      Dat ol` mare o` mine.
  Ef I whup huh, she jes` switch huh tail, an` settle to a walk,
  Ef I whup huh mo`, she shek huh haid, an` lak ez not, she balk.
  But huh sense ain`t no ways lackin`, she do evah t`ing but talk,
      Dat ol` mare o` mine.

  But she gentle ez a lady w`en she know huh beau kin see.
  An` she sholy got mo` gumption any day den you or me,
    Dat ol` mare o` mine.
  She`s a leetle slow a-goin,` an` she moughty ha`d to sta`t,
  But we `s gittin` ol` togathah, an` she `s closah to my hea`t,
  An` I does n`t reckon, mistah, dat she `d sca`cely keer to pa`t;
    Dat ol` mare o` mine.

  W`y I knows de time dat cidah `s kin` o` muddled up my haid,
  Ef it had n`t been fu` Sukey hyeah, I reckon I `d been daid;
    Dat ol` mare o` mine.
  But she got me in de middle o` de road an` tuk me home,
  An` she would n`t let me wandah, ner she would n`t let me roam,
  Dat`s de kin` o` hoss to tie to w`en you `s seed de cidah`s foam,
    Dat ol` mare o` mine.

  You kin talk erbout yo` heaven, you kin talk erbout yo` hell,
  Dey is people, dey is hosses, den dey`s cattle, den dey`s--well--
    Dat ol` mare o` mine;
  She de beatenes` t`ing dat evah struck de medders o` de town,
  An` aldough huh haid ain`t fittin` fu` to waih no golden crown,
  D` ain`t a blessed way fu` Petah fu` to tu`n my Sukey down,
    Dat ol` mare o` mine.
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