Her parents came to know this, That such a thing could be, A sailor Jack, a sailor lad, Just from the wars of Germany.

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

So Polly she's at home With money at command, She taken a notion To view some foreign land.

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

She went to the tailor's shop And dressed herself in man's array, And was off to an officer To carry her straight away.

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"Good morning," says the officer, And "Morning," says she, "Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me To the wars of Germany."

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"Your waist is too slender, Your fingers are too small, I am afraid from your countenance You can't face a cannon ball."

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"My waist is not too slender, My fingers are not too small, And never would I quiver To face a cannon ball."

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"We don't often 'list an officer Unless the name we know;"

She answered him in a low, sweet voice, "You may call me Jack Munro."

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

We gathered up our men And quickly we did sail, We landed in France With a sweet and pleasant gale.

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

We were walking on the land, Up and down the line,-- Among the dead and wounded Her own true love she did find.

Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

She picked him up all in her arms, To Tousen town she went; She soon found a doctor To dress and heal his wounds, Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

So Jacky, he is married, And his bride by his side, In spite of her old parents And all the world beside.

Sing no longer left alone, Sing no longer left alone.

FREIGHTING FROM WILc.o.x TO GLOBE

Come all you jolly freighters That has freighted on the road, That has hauled a load of freight From Wilc.o.x to Globe; We freighted on this road For sixteen years or more A-hauling freight for Livermore,-- No wonder that I'm poor.

And it's home, dearest home; And it's home you ought to be, Over on the Gila In the white man's country, Where the poplar and the ash And mesquite will ever be Growing green down on the Gila; There's a home for you and me.

'Twas in the spring of seventy-three I started with my team, Led by false illusion And those foolish, golden dreams; The first night out from Wilc.o.x My best wheel horse was stole, And it makes me curse a little To come out in the hole.

This then only left me three,-- Kit, Mollie and old Mike; Mike being the best one of the three I put him out on spike; I then took the mountain road So the people would not smile, And it took fourteen days To travel thirteen mile.

But I got there all the same With my little three-up spike; It taken all my money, then, To buy a mate for Mike.

You all know how it is When once you get behind, You never get even again Till you d.a.m.n steal them blind.

I was an honest man When I first took to the road, I would not swear an oath, Nor would I tap a load; But now you ought to see my mules When I begin to cuss, They flop their ears and wiggle their tails And pull the load or bust.

Now I can tap a whiskey barrel With nothing but a stick, No one can detect me I've got it down so slick; Just fill it up with water,-- Sure, there's no harm in that.

Now my clothes are not the finest, Nor are they genteel; But they will have to do me Till I can make another steal.

My boots are number elevens, For I swiped them from a chow, And my coat cost dos reals From a little Apache squaw.

Now I have freighted in the sand, I have freighted in the rain, I have bogged my wagons down And dug them out again; I have worked both late and early Till I was almost dead, And I have spent some nights sleeping In an Arizona bed.

Now barbed wire and bacon Is all that they will pay, But you have to show your copper checks To get your grain and hay; If you ask them for five dollars, Old Meyers will scratch his pate, And the clerks in their white, stiff collars Say, "Get down and pull your freight."

But I want to die and go to h.e.l.l, Get there before Livermore and Meyers, And get a job of hauling c.o.ke To keep up the devil's fires; If I get the job of singeing them, I'll see they don't get free; I'll treat them like a yaller dog, As they have treated me.

And it's home, dearest home; And it's home you ought to be, Over on the Gila, In the white man's country, Where the poplar and the ash And mesquite will ever be Growing green down on the Gila; There's a home for you and me.

THE ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS

Come all of you people, I pray you draw near, A comical ditty you all shall hear.

The boys in this country they try to advance By courting the ladies and learning to dance,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

The boys in this country they try to be plain, Those words that you hear you may hear them again, With twice as much added on if you can.

There's many a boy stuck up for a man,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll take, And out in the dark their bottles they'll break; You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here; So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

There is some wears shoes and some wears boots, But there are very few that rides who don't shoot; More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do, They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel, They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel, Saying, "How do I look in my new brown suit, With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads For here are some girls that's fully as bad; They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair, And like an old owl before the gla.s.s they'll stare,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

The girls in the country they grin like a cat, And with giggling and laughing they don't know what they're at, They think they're pretty and I tell you they're wise, But they couldn't get married to save their two eyes,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

You can tell a good girl wherever she's found; No tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, no lace, no nonsense around; With a long-eared bonnet tied under her chin,-- . . . . . . . . . . . .

And they're down, down, and they're down.

They'll go to church with their snuff-box in hand, They'll give it a tap to make it look grand; Perhaps there is another one or two And they'll pa.s.s it around and it's "Madam, won't you,"-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

Now, I think it's quite time for this ditty to end; If there's anyone here that it will offend, If there's anyone here that thinks it amiss Just come around now and give the singer a kiss,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

THE DYING RANGER