Betsey and I Are Out

Draw up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout;For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are out.We, who have worked together so long as man and wife,Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat'ral life.

"What is the matter?" say you. I swan it's hard to tell!Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well;I have no other woman, she has no other man—Only we've lived together as long as we ever can.

So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree;Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime;We've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time.

There was a stock of temper we both had for a start,Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart;I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone;And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own.

The first thing I remember whereon we disagreedWas something concerning heaven—a difference in our creed;We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea,And the more we arg'ed the question the more we didn't agree.

And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow;She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only—How?I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had;And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad.

And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl;And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.

And so that bowl kept pourin' dissensions in our cup;And so that blamed cow-critter was always a-comin' up;And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got,But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.

And so the thing kept workin', and all the self-same way;Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say;And down on us came the neighbors, a couple dozen strong,And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along.

And there has been days together—and many a weary week—We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak;And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of the winter and fall,If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then, I won't at all.

And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,And we have agreed together that we can't never agree;And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign.

Write on the paper, lawyer—the very first paragraph—Of all the farm and live-stock that she shall have her half;For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day,And it's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay.

Give her the house and homestead—a man can thrive and roam;But women are skeery critters, unless they have a home;And I have always determined, and never failed to say,That Betsey never should want a home if I was taken away.

There is a little hard money that's drawin' tol'rable pay:A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day;Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at;Put in another clause there, and give her half of that.

Yes, I see you smile, Sir, at my givin' her so much;Yes, divorce is cheap, Sir, but I take no stock in such!True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young;And Betsey was al'ays good to me, exceptin' with her tongue.

Once, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps,For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps;And all of them was flustered, and fairly taken down,And I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town.

Once when I had a fever—I won't forget it soon—I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon;Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight—She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night.

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen;And I don't complain of Betsey, or any of her acts,Exceptin' when we've quarreled, and told each other facts.

So draw up the paper, lawyer, and I'll go home to-night,And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right;And then, in the mornin', I'll sell to a tradin' man I know,And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go.

And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur:That when I am dead at last she'll bring me back to her;And lay me under the maples I planted years ago,When she and I was happy before we quarreled so.

And when she dies I wish that she would be laid by me,And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree;And, if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queerIf we loved each other the better because we quarreled here.