<h2>MY PHILOSOFY</h2>
<h3>BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I ain't, ner don't p'tend to be,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Much posted on philosofy;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But thare is times, when all alone,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I work out idees of my own.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And of these same thare is a few<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I'd like to jest refer to you—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pervidin' that you don't object<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To listen clos't and rickollect.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I allus argy that a man<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who does about the best he can<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is plenty good enugh to suit<br/></span>
<span class="i0">This lower mundane institute—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No matter ef his daily walk<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is subject fer his neghbor's talk,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And critic-minds of ev'ry whim<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Jest all git up and go fer him!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I knowed a feller onc't that had<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The yeller-janders mighty bad,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Would stop and give him some receet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He kindo' thought they'd go away<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Without no medicin', and boast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That he'd git well without one doste.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_1077" id="Page_1077"></SPAN></span><br/></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He kep' a-yellerin' on—and they<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Perdictin' that he'd die some day<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The feller did, and lost his head,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And wundered in his mind a spell—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then rallied, and, at last, got well;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But ev'ry friend that said he'd die<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Went back on him eternally!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Its natchurl enugh, I guess,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When some gits more and some gits less,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fer them-uns on the slimmest side<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To claim it ain't a fare divide;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And I've knowed some to lay and wait,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And git up soon, and set up late,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To ketch some feller they could hate<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fer goin' at a faster gait.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The signs is bad when folks commence<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A-findin' fault with Providence,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At ev'ry prancin' step they take.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No man is grate tel he can see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How less than little he would be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He hung his sign out anywhare.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My doctern is to lay aside<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Contensions, and be satisfied:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Jest do your best, and praise er blame<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That follers that, counts jest the same.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I've allus noticed grate success<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is mixed with troubles, more or less,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And it's the man who does the best<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That gits more kicks than all the rest.<br/></span>
<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_1078" id="Page_1078"></SPAN></span></div>
</div>
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