  Dhere vas many qveer dings in dis land of der free I neffer could qvite understand; Der beoples dhey all seem so deefrent to me As dhose in mine own faderland. Dhey gets blenty droubles, und indo mishaps Mitout der least bit off a cause; Und, vould you pelief it? dhose mean Yankee chaps, Dhey fights mit dheir moder-in-laws! Shust dink off a vite man so vicked as dot! Vhy not gife der oldt lady a show? Who vas it gets oup, ven der night id vas hot, Mit mine baby, I shust like to know? Und den in der vinter vhen Katrine vas sick, Und der mornings vas shnowy and raw, Who made righdt avay oup dot fire so qvick? Vhy, dot vas mine moder-in-law. Id vos von off dhose woman's righdts vellers I been, Dhere vas noding dot's mean aboudt me; Ven der oldt lady vishes to run dot masheen, Vhy, I shust let her run id, you see. Und vhen dot sly Yawcob vas cutting some dricks (A block off der oldt chip he vas, yaw!), Eef she goes for dot chap like some dousand of bricks, Dot's all righdt! She's mine moder-in-law. Veek oudt und veek in, it vas alvays der same, Dot voman vas boss off der house; Budt, dhen, neffer mindt! I vos glad dot she came, She vas kind to mine young Yawcob Strauss. And vhen dhere vas vater to get vrom der spring, Und firevood to shplit oup und saw, She vas velcome to do it. Dhere's not anyding Dot's too good for mine moder-in-law. Charles Follen Adams. |
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