by Leon Deloach Deborde
I have a purple Spotte.
O woe is me! Oh woe is me,
And grievous is my lotte,
I got it in ye night-time,
Arising from my cotte,
A-groping in ye darkness
For ye old chamber potte.
Always in ye night-time,
I've parked it on ye floor,
but ye good wife says,
From now forevermore,
I must be early up,
And whiske it out of sight,
Before ye gentle neighbors,
May see it in ye light.
Oh abominable chore,
and that I should be so meek,
To empty this thing daily,
Instead of once a week.
But e'en now a wondrous plan,
Comes stealing to my mind,
'Twill ease my wife's embarrassment,
And keep ye neighbors blind.
In ye morrow's early dawne,
And buy me lovely colors,
Red and Blue and Pink and Browne.
And then I'll hie me home again,
And seat me on the rugge,
And do a job of painting
On ye old thunder mugge.
I'll paint ye background pink,
And mark ye lines in browne,
and beauteous scroll-work everywhere
and blue waves up and down.
I'll paint on either side with care,
A sweet forget-me-notte,
And label it in big red printe,
Ye good wife's flower-potte.
No more Ill sneak in early dawn,
From off the nice warm rug,
Barefooted over the frosty lawn,
To spill the thunder mugge.
I'll do it in the flush of day,
When the sun is bright and hotte,
And grope no more in darkness,
For ye old chamber potte.
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