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NEWHOME
by
Graham Forsdyke

Written for the 'Newhome' sewing machine company in 1886.

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through Chicago streets there passed
A spanking rig, at lightening gait --
Two sewing machines comprised the freight --
New Home.

Along the wagon's sides, so gay,
In golden letters, as bright as day,
Shone out that old familiar name --
The dealers' guide to wealth and fame --
New Home.

Behind this wagon, spick and span
A lightening-running greyhound ran;
With gracious head and slender shanks,
And lettered plainly on its flanks,
New Home.

Oh come, New Home, a maiden cried
And linger easy at my side
The driver winked and threw a kiss
Some other day I will, dear miss.
New Home.

Beware an old man yelled, beware!
Of t'other wagons have a care;
Go gently, or you'll get upset,
A voice replied, "Well I guess not",
New Home.

What's this, a bulldog barked so bold;
A handsome hound, I'll have him culled
The simple hound proved strong as fleet,
And chewed him into sausage meat
New Home.

Silent, their course was onward sped;
The road was quickly cleared ahead.
And growling drivers gave the pass,
Whilst muttering low in smothered wrath:
New Home.

Some time before the sun went down,
The New Home man drove back down town
And gaily sang "I've made a mash
And sold my two machines for cash"!
Hurrah!
New Home.
 
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