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A massa dat doan't keep no Yankee oberseer to foller you 'bout wid de big free-lashed whip; but dat leads you hisseff round to de green pastures and de still waters; and w'en you'm a-faint and a-tired, and can't go no furder, dat takes you up in his arms, and carries you in his bosom. What pore darky am dar dat wudn't hab sich a massa?
My lover lay the Night with me and clipt me with his right, * While I with left embraced him, a-faint for ecstasy; And hugged him to my breast and sucked the sweet wine of his lips, * Full savouring the honey-draught the honey-man sold to me.
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