1100 
7She  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
August  19,  1916. 
Let’s  th’ow  him  outen  de  do’  in  de  san’, 
We  do’  want  stragglers  a-layin’  roun’  hyeah; 
Let’s  gin  him  ’way  to  de  big  buggah-man ; 
I  know’  he’s  hidin’  erroun’  hyeah  right  neah 
Buggah-man,  buggah-man,  come  in  de  do’, 
Hyeah’s  a  bad  boy  yo’  kin  have  £u’  to  eat. 
Mammy  an’  pappy  do’  want  him  no  mo’, 
Swaller  him  down  f’om  his  haid  to  his  feet ! 
Little  brown  baby  wif  spa’klin’  eyes, 
Come  to  yo’  pappy  an’  set  on  his  knee, 
What  you  been  doin’,  suh — makin’  san’  pies? 
Look  at  dat  bib — you’s  ez  du’ty  ez  me. 
Look  at  dat  mouf — dat’s  merlasses,  I  bet; 
Come  hyeah  Maria,  an’  wipe  off  his  han’s. 
Bees  gwine  to  ketch  you  an’  eat  you  up  yit, 
Bein’  so  sticky  an’  sweet — goodness  Ian’s! 
Little  brown  baby  wif  spa’klin’  eyes, 
Who’s  pappy’s  darlin’  an’  who’s  pappy’s  chile? 
Who  is  it  all  de  day  nevah  once  tries 
Fu’  to  be  cross,  er  once  loses  dat  smile? 
Whah  did  you  git  dem  teef?  My,  you’s  a  scamp! 
Whah  did  dat  dimple  come  f’om  in  yo’  chin? 
Pappy  do’  know  yo’ — I  b’lieves  you’s  a  tramp ; 
Mammy,  dis  hyeah’s  some  ol’  straggler  got  in! 
Dah,  now,  I  t’ought  dat  you’d  hug  me  up  close, 
Go  back,  ol’  buggah,  yo’  sha’n’t  have  dis  boy. 
He  ain’t  no  tramp,  ner  no  straggler,  of  co’se ; 
He’s  pappy’s  pa’dner,  an’  playmate  an’  joy. 
Come  to  you  pallet  now — go  to  yo’  res’ ; 
Wisht  you  could  alius  know  ease  an’  cleah  skies; 
Wisht  you  could  stay  jes’  a  chile  on  my  breas’ — 
Little  brown  baby  wif  spa’klin’  eyes ! 
— Paul  Laurence  Dunbar 
