Riley Farm-Rhymes

"MYLO JONES'S WIFE"

     "Mylo Jones's wife" was all
     I heerd, mighty near, last Fall—
     Visitun relations down
     T'other side of Morgantown!
     Mylo Jones's wife she does
     This and that, and "those" and "thus"!—
     Can't 'bide babies in her sight—
     Ner no childern, day and night,
     Whoopin' round the premises—
     NER NO NOTHIN' ELSE, I guess!

     Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows
     She's the boss of her own house!—
     Mylo—consequences is—
     Stays whare things seem SOME like HIS,—
     Uses, mostly, with the stock—
     Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk,
     Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner
     Act, I s'pose, so much like HER!
     Yit the wimmern-folks tells you
     She's PERFECTION.—Yes they do!

     Mylo's wife she says she's found
     Home hain't home with MEN-FOLKS round
     When they's work like HERN to do—
     Picklin' pears and BUTCHERN, too,
     And a-rendern lard, and then
     Cookin' fer a pack of men
     To come trackin' up the flore
     SHE'S scrubbed TEL she'll scrub no MORE!—
     Yit she'd keep things clean ef they
     Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!

     Mylo Jones's wife she sews
     Carpet-rags and patches clothes
     Jest year IN and OUT!—and yit
     Whare's the livin' use of it?
     She asts Mylo that.—And he
     Gits back whare he'd ruther be,
     With his team;—jest PLOWS—and don't
     Never sware—like some folks won't!
     Think ef HE'D CUT LOOSE, I gum!
     'D he'p his heavenly chances some!

     Mylo's wife don't see no use,
     Ner no reason ner excuse
     Fer his pore relations to
     Hang round like they allus do!
     Thare 'bout onc't a year—and SHE—
     She jest GA'NTS 'em, folks tells me,
     On spiced pears!—Pass Mylo one,
     He says "No, he don't chuse none!"
     Workin'men like Mylo they
     'D ort to have MEAT ev'ry day!

     Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!
     Ruther rake a blame caseknife
     'Crost my wizzen than to see
     Sich a womern rulin' ME!—
     Ruther take and turn in and
     Raise a fool mule-colt by hand'
     MYLO, though—od-rot the man!—
     Jest keeps ca'm—like some folks CAN—
     And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose,
     Is MAN'S HE'PMEET'—Mercy knows!