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"The Old Deacon's Version of the Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus"

The following is the complete text of Frank L. Stanton's "The Old Deacon's Version of the Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus." The various books, short stories and poems we offer are presented free of charge with absolutely no advertising as a public service from Internet Accuracy Project.

To see all available titles by other authors, drop by our index of free books alphabetized by author or arranged alphabetically by title.

Potential uses for the free books, stories and prose we offer
* Rediscovering an old favorite book, poem or story.
* Bibliophiles expanding their collection of public domain ebooks at no cost.
* Teachers trying to locate a free online copy of a classic poem or short story for use in the classroom.

NOTE: We try to present these classic literary works as they originally appeared in print. As such, they sometimes contain adult themes, offensive language, typographical errors, and often utilize unconventional, older, obsolete or intentionally incorrect spelling and/or punctuation conventions.

"The Old Deacon's Version of the Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus"



I s'pose yo' know de story, O my brotherin', er de man
Dat wuz rich ez cream, en livin' on de fatness er de lan'?
How he sot dar eatin' 'possum, en when Laz'rus ax fer some,
He tell 'im: "Git erway, dar! fer you'll never git a crumb!"

De rich man wuz a feastin' f'um his chiny plate en cup,
Kaze he 'fraid his po' relations come en eat his wittles up;
I spec' he had two 'possums on de table long en wide,
En a jimmyjohn er cane juice wuz a-settin' by his side.

En he say: "Dis heah des suits me, en I gwine ter eat my fill;
But I'll sic de dogs on Laz'rus, ef he waitin' roun' heah still."
En de dogs commence dey barkin', raise a racket high en low,
En when Laz'rus see 'em comin' he decide 'twuz time ter go.

So, he limp off on his crutches, en de rich man think it's fun,
But I reckon Laz'rus answer: "I'll git even wid you, son!"
De rich man so enjoy hisse'f he laugh hisse'f ter bed,
En, brotherin', when he wake up he wuz stiff, stone dead!

En den he raise a racket, en he holler out: "What dis?
De place is onfamiliar, en I wonder whar' I is?"
Den Satan, he mek answer: "I'm de man ter tell you dat:
You's in de fire department er de place I livin' at!"

Den de rich man say: "Whar' Laz'rus dat wuz beggin' at my gate?"
En Satan tell him: "Yander, wid a silver spoon en plate;
En he eatin' fit ter kill hisse'f! He spendin' er de day
Wid good ol' Mister Abra'm, but he mighty fur away!"

"Will you please, suh," say de rich man, "ax him bring a drink ter me,
Wid a li'l' ice ter cool it? Kaze I hot ez hot kin be!"
But Satan fall ter laughin', whilst he stir de fire roun':--
"De ice would melt, my brother, 'fo' it ever hit de groun'!"

Den he fill a cup wid brimstone--fill it steamin' ter de top;
But de rich man say he swear off, dat he never tech a drop!
But Satan grab his pitchfork whilst de rich man give a squall,
En in 'bout a half a second he had swallered cup en all!

Now, dat's erbout de story er de rich man at de feas',
What wouldn't pass de 'possum roun' when Laz'rus want a piece.
De 'possum means yo' pocketbook, de moral's plain ez day:
Shake de dollars in de basket 'fo' you go de rich man's way!

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