_Hannah._ Oh, missis, I don’t want to jump de broomstick wid Cato. I don’t love Cato; I can’t love him.
_Mrs. G._ Shut up, this moment! What do you know about love? I didn’t love your master when I married him, and people don’t marry for love now. So go and put on your calico dress, and meet me in the kitchen.
I am glad that the Colonel has sold Sam; now I’ll make Hannah marry Cato, and I have them both here under my eye. And I am also glad that the Colonel has parted with Melinda. Still, I’m afraid that he is trying to deceive me. He took the hussy away yesterday, and says he sold her to a trader; but I don’t believe it. At any rate, if she’s in the neighborhood, I’ll find her, that I will. No man ever fools me.
_Hannah._ Oh, Cato, do go and tell missis dat you don’t want to jump de broomstick wid me,—dat’s a good man! Do, Cato; kase I nebber can love you. It was only las week dat massa sold my Sammy, and I don’t want any udder man. Do go tell missis dat you don’t want me.
_Cato._ No, Hannah, I ain’t a gwine to tell missis no such thing, kase I dose want you, and I ain’t a-gwine to tell a lie for you ner nobody else. Dar, now you’s got it! I don’t see why you need to make so much fuss. I is better lookin’ den Sam; an’ I is a house servant, an’ Sam was only a fiel hand; so you ought to feel proud of a change. So go and do as missis tells you.
Hannah needn’t try to get me to tell a lie; I ain’t a-gwine to do it, kase I dose want her, an’ I is bin wantin’ her dis long time, an’ soon as massa sold Sam, I knowed I would get her. By golly, I is gwine to be a married man. Won’t I be happy! Now, ef I could only jess run away from ole massa, an’ get to Canada wid Hannah, den I’d show ’em who I was. Ah! dat reminds me of my song ’bout ole massa and Canada, an’ I’ll sing it fer yer. Dis is my moriginal hyme. It comed into my head one night when I was fass asleep under an apple tree, looking up at de moon. Now for my song:—
Come all ye bondmen far and near, Let’s put a song in massa’s ear, It is a song for our poor race, Who’re whipped and trampled with disgrace.
My old massa tells me, Oh, This is a land of freedom, Oh; Let’s look about and see if it’s so, Just as massa tells me, Oh.