Aunt Shaw's Pet Jug

I learned uh when I was on tour
In the summer of '81 with Marshall Dodge
I spent a period of real intense learning about the roots of Maine humor
And as opposed to other types of humor
Maine has a real history
That goes back to people like Artemis Gordon in the mid-eighteen hundreds
And uh, Josh Billings and uh
There are various humorists that have kept this particular type of story-telling alive
And one of the most well-known
And one of my favorites
Is a fellow by the name of Holman Day
And uh he was quite well known around the state of Maine
And during the hey-day of his writing
School kids would memorize his pieces
For highschool speaking contests and so forth
And my favorite Holman Day piece
Is a piece called Aunt Shaw's Pet Jug
And it goes like this

Now there was Uncle L. Nathan Shaw
Most regular man you ever saw
Just past four in the afternoon
He'd start and whistle that old gin tune
Get the big blue jug off the buttry shelf
And trot down the celler to draw himself
Old cider enough to last him through a winter evening
Two quarts would do
Just as regular as half past four come 'round
He'd tackle that cellar door as he had for thirty years or more
And as regular too as he took that jug
Aunt shaw would yap through her old crossed mug
Now Nathan
For goodness sake take care
You always trip on that second stair
Seems as though you was just possessed to break that jug
Its the very best there is in town and you know it too
It was left to my by my great Aunt Sue
For goodness sake why don't you lug a tin dish down
Fore you'll break that jug
Always the same sir for thirty years
Always the same old twits and jeers
Slammed for the nineteenth thousandth time
Still we wonder my friend at crime
But (?)
The worst he said was please shut up
You know what the good book says befell
The pitcher that went to the old pine well
Well whether twas that
Or his time had come
Or his stiff old legs got weak and numb
Or whether his nerve had last give in
To Aunt Shaw's everlasting chin
One day he slipped on that second stair
He whirled and grabbed at the empty air
And clean to the foot of them stairs
Ker-smack he bumped on the bulge of his humped old back
And he barely finished that final bump
And old Aunt Shaw she give a jump
Screamed downstairs as mad to bud
(?) did you break my jug
Now poor Uncle Nathan
He lay there flat
Knocked up in the shape of an old top hat
He rubbed his legs and brushed off the dirt
He found after all he weren't much hurt
He saved the jug
For his last wild thought had been the vat
He might have caught on the cellar shelves and saved his fall
He kept his hands on the jug through all
And now as he boost his jealous hug
His wife just screamed "did you break my jug?"
Not a single word for his poor old bones
Or a word when she heard his awful groans
But that plain old hard-shelled turtle
Just wanted to know if that just was bust
Well old Uncle Nathan he gave a roar
And shook his fist at the cellar door
Did you break my jug?
She was yelling still
No (?) but I swear I will
And you'd have thought the house was gonna fall
When that old jug smashed on that cellar wall