Deadwood (2004–2006): Season 3, Episode 9 - Amateur Night - full transcript

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One-third of six is two.

The combination of the safe
in the hardware store,

which you should commit
to memory against eventualities.

As was threatened by the arrival
of those men last night.

Yes. There are deeds,
some 7% bonds,

certificates, sundry receivables.

One-third of six is two.

One-three-aught-six-two.

Yes.

The children and I are moving
into the new schoolhouse today.



Good.

I'll walk with you.

I wish we'd found out the last part

for Mrs. Bullock to tell the children.

We did as best we could.

Does four desks to a row seem right?

Mm, if not,
they ain't nailed to the floor.

You ain't seen Jane?

Hearst:
The camp is to know they're here.

The camp is to know
they're my employees.

If this knowledge came first
from some disruption of traffic

in the thoroughfare,
I would have no objection.

- All right.
- And matters might deteriorate from there.

- Coffee!
- Jewel: Ready.



Well-positioned, Davey.

- Yes, sir, Mr. Swearengen.
- Eyeing them idlers outside Hearst's hotel.

Copperhead cocksucker Hearst--
bringing in the fucking Pinkertons?

Not much of a horserace, Dan,
between the appetite for blood

- and fidelity to a political conviction.
- Fucking Pinkertons!

Do we have alternatives to enlisting
reinforcements in Cheyenne?

I knew I should have stayed
packed from four days ago.

Some bullshit's jumping off
on the thoroughfare, Mr. Swearengen.

Get out of my way.

Move it, old timer.

Get out of the way, Hop Lee!

Hang on.

Cocksuck--

- Move along, Ding-Dong! Move along!
- Cocksucker!

- Move along!
- Cocksucker!

- Move along, Ding-Dong!
- (Wu grunts)

Go get fucking Wu.

Question extant being: till reinforced,
can we learn the ways of church mice?

(grunts)

Call on Tolliver.

You will not mistake
the newspaperman.

He looks like a... big turtle.

Published a letter
meant to embarrass me.

That I authored his discomfiture

should come clear only
as events cumulate.

All right.

At the top of my to-do list every morning
and every day it gets away from me.

- Anyways, here you are.
- Here I am,

Al's delegate-- as far as him
and you deal with Mr. Hearst.

Will you still if invited to sit
or will it take me offering a meal?

I'd sooner not sit, sir, and already ate.
Only asking, ought I bear a message to Al?

Nothing comes to mind.

Horsemen come to camp
by torchlight last night.

Tell Al as we didn't
wake to the Apocalypse,

I suppose all we need fear
is their Winchesters.

The pillars of my existence
who should know each other:

Mr. John Langrishe,
my dear Aunt Lou Marchbanks.

With whose art I am most
appreciatively familiar.

Mr. Langrishe is now to my back, Aunt Lou,
what you have long been to my belly.

And I may say that so long
as the nodals are quiet,

that girth at the midriff,

preached as sin by so many among
the guardians of sacral well-being,

is absolved as a danger by me.

I've been heavy all my life.

Oh, I refer not at all to you, dear lady.

Salty, juicy ham this morning.

I must have it.

Usual for me, Aunt Lou.

Sit sit sit sit.

Must I do so four times?

Ah, my closest confidant in the camp

is Aunt Lou, and I say that
with every awareness.

Wonderful.

I guess I must have went
invisible over night.

I saw you, drummer.

And yet you cut in front of me.

(groans)

I just knew you wouldn't be eating.

Did I not see the gentlemen who is
still upright arrive in the camp last night?

I believe I may have as well.

I was on the porch of this structure,

and you with Mr. Swearengen
on his balcony.

I believe he came in on horseback.

Not as a pedestrian, ironically,

given his heavy-footed virtuosity.

What did Mr. Swearengen
make of the coming into camp

of that man among his friends?

Do allow me, Mr. Hearst,

as your corporal comfort's advocate,

in this regard to be neutral.

Let me show in your company
on the subject of Al,

no less rigorous a reticence
than I exhibit with Al

when addressing the subject of you.

Ah!

My ham.

- Alma: Good morning.
- Morning.

Good morning, Louis.

- I hope your night was uneventful.
- Yes, ma'am.

Jim's late, so I'll watch till he arrives.

Thank you.

How have you been, Trixie?

No complaints...

as if anybody would give a shit.

I come to put in some money.

I'm glad.

(grunting)

Oh shit!
You motherfucker!

Whoa whoa
whoa whoa whoa whoa!

I ain't no goddamn nurse!
I gotta see to my business in this camp.

Tom's rules. You can't
set if you ain't drinking.

He's buying for them that do.

Yeah, uh, and what if he messes hisself?

For them that wipes him off.

I ain't seeing him out.
I ain't gonna fucking do it!

Trixie: You seem better
of late at a distance

than you appeared
when last seen up close.

- And now that you've seen me up close?
- I get the same impression,

particularly of a clearness at the eye.

I am better.

Jack:
Good morning.

Anyways,

there's 12 bucks
I deposit into my account.

If the currency's counterfeit,

my fucking Jew boss is the culprit.

Do not, please, madam,
hasten your business

- or abridge it.
- I don't need no receipt.

I trust the lady.

John Langrishe, madam,
of the Langrishe Theater Company.

How do you do, Mr. Langrishe?

Glad I'm well to bid you good morning.

I'd undertake two transactions.

Deposit of $4,000

and the borrowing of like amount.

Those would seem at cross-purpose.

Theater types being
perceived as transient,

nomadic--

without stake, so to speak,
in a place's particulars--

my redundant undertakings

would allay mistrust of my kind

endemic in such camps as these.

Oh. (chuckles)

No less weighty than my verbiage.

You have your loan, Mr. Langrishe.

A pleasure, Mrs. Ellsworth.

By way of publicity,

this evening we conduct
an amateur night.

I wish to state, unequivocally

with this imposing
gentleman as witness,

I have no gossamer filament of doubt

you have skills to delight and amaze.

They have their fucking fun with you,

and in the morning
they treat you like dirt.

(snickers)
And you a fucking virgin...

No, and not pretending to be.

...to be wounded by her callous ways.

All I'm saying is
she could have been nicer,

and those steerers
more fucking polite.

(whooping)

- Assholes!
- Hey,

we got a timber lease to work.
Get over there.

(Wu mutters Chinese)

Oh, yeah, I'm sure them scribblings is clear
as fucking rainwater to you, Johnny--

he who was stymied by a couple
of fucking Xs and a goddamn straight line.

Winks, grins, gives Wu the big okay.

Okay.

Johnny: If I recall
the drawing you're referring to,

I believe the straight line signifying
the bar was first made out by me.

As far as these pictures here, now I,

not fathoming the full particulars,

I feel I get the general drift.

You best trot upstairs with Johnny, Wu.

Show Al your work is finished.

But remember, Al, he-- he ain't near
as quick as Johnny or fucking Jewel.

No, Al might be confused and treat you
to a fucking ass-kicking.

(speaks Chinese)

Well, what does Tolliver know
of the guns come to camp?

- He said he don't know nothing.
- And you fucking believe him, huh?

I think, I did.
Felt like he is outside looking in.

We ought to form a fucking club.

Fucking Yankton's rejoined us,
for Christ's fucking sake?

Must have finished
stealing from the Indians.

Pinkerton:
Wipe your ass, Hiram.

It feels strange at first,
but the shit protects against blisters.

Ho!

- Will you be here after work?
- If I am, will you suck my prick?

Well, if you ain't and a fella
says "Hiram" is trying to find you,

if he don't go on to call you a cunt,
he's cutting the message short.

Wyatt:
Let's go, Morgan.

What, was it him that got
you hooked on cocksucking?

Get on the fucking wagon.

I'll be here, Hiram.
Try some shit on them blisters.

Let him fuck your ass.
He may raise your pay a quarter.

You might already be too loose.

See you this afternoon.

(man crying)

A room, if I may,

unexposed to the gales which must
blow through that hole above us.

Mr. George Hearst,
who is now the hotel's owner,

put the hole in that wall.

Jarry: Enhancing not at all for me
the prospect of a room

- in the hole's proximity.
- Could I get a wheelbarrow or the like?

Yes, sir.
Richardson! Wheelbarrow!

Miss Stubbs?

I guess you're near ready
to take the children over.

Or are you ready now?
Do I keep you from it?

Oh, I'm-- I'm taking the children
in an hour's time.

Just now you give us happy
respite from our numbers.

Anyways, Mose says the man was
a Norwegger from Wisconsin,

built the building around the tree
so as to have sap on hand for syrup,

which must taste like hell
for being burr oak, but...

probably smells nice in a lamp.

- Does anyone know why he left?
- No luck on that score.

Far as that, we came up empty.

It's too bad.

It's freer rein for the children's
imaginations.

Fewer facts, I guess, to trample.

I hope that you'll
walk with us, Miss Stubbs.

Oh...

- Sure.
- Good.

I'll see you in an hour.

Alma: I recognize, Mr. Fields,
that in any foreseeable future

Steve will not resume
operations of the livery

or pay on his note to the bank.
Be assured I am grateful

for the expedient care you have taken
of the livery and its occupants,

having no obligation
in this matter of any kind.

No shadow ought be
on Hostetler's reputation

that sold to Steve
by me now taking leave.

No reasonable person would cast one.

I guess I can head out then
knowing the one in a 100 that is

won't sully Hostetler's name.
I got a life to live of my own.

As do all here in the camp.

Sorry to hold you all up.

(door squeaks)

Jesus Christ, whoever thought
I'd come to write an article?

- Have you a notice you wish circulated, sir?
- What?

By "article" do you mean you have
some notice you'd wish published?

By "article" I mean a fucking article.

What would be your article's subject?

You're a fat fucking bastard, ain't ya?

I think we ought best continue
our conversation, sir,

when you're not under
the influence of spirits.

Something stupid looking about you.

- I must insist you leave.
- Fucking irritating!

- How you look makes me fucking embarrassed!
- (gasps)

- Oh dear.
- "Oh dear"?

Oh dear.

(AW groaning)

You'd better come help your friend.

Mr. Merrick, I'm sorry!
I'm so sorry!

Swedgin, Hearst, heng dai?

We're the opposite
of fucking heng dai!

- We're bok gwai lo, the two of us.
- Bok gwai lo?

Fuck bok gwai lo!
We're not fucking heng dai!

We're the opposite of fucking heng dai!
Now make your fucking point.

Yah! Swedgin! Hearst! Eee!

Jesus fucking Christ.

Wu:
150 Chung Kuo cocksucker-- Custer.

He's dead, for Christ's sake, Wu!

Hey, how about the canoe?

Did you know that had been
fucking invented yet, huh?

Custer, Chung Kuo cocksucker,

150-- Custer.

Custer City?

Oh! Custer City!

Wu's holding his men

- outside Custer City...
- Ahh.

...'cause you and Hearst
are on the outs.

Clever precautionary
fucking thinking, Wu.

- Miss Stubbs.
- Mr. Utter.

- Mr. Langrishe.
- The blessed Miss Stubbs,

whose bust is so very prominent
in the mind's pantheon of the camp.

Some not 50 yards from us

will put these of mine to shame.

As I've made to Mr. Utter

a proposal the answer to which

he must generate only
in privacy and after meditation.

If you'll excuse, I'll take my leave.

- Well, I will too.
- No no no, Miss Stubbs.

It is only I from whom
he must be sequestered.

Your counsel may be invaluable.

If you can cartwheel
or puff your cheeks like a fish...

we have a festivity tonight.

I'll live in hope you'll attend.

There is a strange fucking bird.

Some kind of, uh, amateur night

he's organizing,
connected with his theater

some way I couldn't fathom.

A prelude, he called it.

Fucking Jane ought
to break out her bullwhip.

I nearly came to know for Mrs. Bullock
to tell the children

why that schoolhouse
has a tree growing through it.

The new one has
a tree growing through it?

Who the man was, why he'd built around
the tree instead of cutting it down.

But Mose couldn't find out
where he'd got to.

Why does she need to know
where the man got to

for Mrs. Bullock to tell
the children about the tree?

To finish the story.

More than where the man
got to once he was through,

I'd think the story was of the tree

and the schoolhouse built around it.

I guess you're right though.

I-- I guess children are like that--

wanting to know all the information.

I guess that's how they are.

You got something
to send, Miss Stubbs?

I was just stopping by
to say good morning.

Jarry:
Friends become adversaries

become now, I hope, friends again.

Doing any good for yourself?

Oh, hard of late, Adams,
doing that in Yankton.

That is something
you would be aware.

From what I read on the crapper.

Washington harasses us
for our difficulties

in distribution to the Indians,

thereby distracting the nation at large

from Washington's own
fiscal turpitudes and miasms.

There amongst the turpitudes and miasms,
you got caught stealing the money.

The money was not stolen.

There was an amount of siphoning off

and certain irregularities.

Sounds like it was
regular as milking Bessie--

96¢ on the dollar.

Rank exaggeration.

If it was less than 90, you fucked
generations of Indian agents to come.

If saying so will let us go on, then,

yes, we stayed above 90.

And did you lay a few cents by?

A few. Never enough.

Your star here is in ascension?

I've been keeping busy.

Tell me how.
Don't delete a single detail.

That's a pretty taut line, Mr. Jarry,
not knowing how deep your hook's set yet.

How deep would 500 set it,

time being of the fucking essence?

Hard to know till it's inside my pocket.

I'd rather not produce it in this place.

Worse gets produced here pretty regular.

Much has been answered already.

Little has fucking changed.

AW:
Ugh, it was nightmarish.

Whatever cogent purpose
the man may have had,

his drunkenness kept him
from conveying, and yet

I had the eerie sense
he knew what he was doing.

- Maybe not so drunk as he seemed, huh?
- (moans)

Details, sir.

Did the newspaperman
try to defend himself?

Did he beg you to stop?
Did he cry out?

He said, "Oh dear." Was bleeding
and curled up like a baby.

(laughs)

I'm guessing your bottom rib
is cracked,

and this contusion at your belly

show the colors of the rainbow
before it's through with you.

Apparently, my expiration
is not imminent.

Doc: 'Course I'm wrong
as much as I am right.

What purpose might the man have had,

Al, in feigning drunkenness?

Allow you to penetrate the pretense?
Teach fear while inflicting pain?

You printed any letters lately, Merrick,

that some miserable cocksucker would
send an underling to punish you for?

- Bastard.
- Blazanov: I should be ashamed

that I didn't come to help.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Merrick,
my dear friend.

Cut it the fuck out, the both of you,

unless you want to act
to the cocksucker's purpose.

This came for the cocksucker,
Mr. Swearengen.

Take it to him.

I'd like to punch him.

Give him the fucking telegram--

and no punching.

Long pulls
on the laudanum as needed.

Check out that sow Tina, Doc,
when opportunity presents.

That ain't the whiff of roses
when she passes.

- Have I bled on your bed linens, Al?
- You wouldn't be the first.

- Shit.
- (hoofbeats approaching)

Do yourself a favor, Sol.

Stop thinking of that Derringer
as a problem solver.

It solved several for me.

Free fucking kindling,
if you have need for it.

Our timber lease ain't
nothing but pecker poles.

Let's see them blisters... Hiram.

Aw! Son of a...

Jesus Christ, Morgan!

Stay inside. Stay in here.

- Help me.
- I did, you motherless cunt--

- to bleed out in the fucking mud.
- (gunshot)

Stand away till I find out
what happened here!

- That fight was fair.
- Pinkerton: Bullshit!

- Corey was under orders not to draw.
- That man's gun's out of its holster.

Was it you took it out
after he was down?

Do you say I did?

That saw me come from my store
as you came down the boardwalk?

I say someone did.

Corey had orders not to draw.

(grunts)

- You're fucking under arrest.
- What for?

For interfering with a fucking peace officer.
Come with me for questioning.

- All right.
- All right, Sheriff.

Seth:
You tell your men to interfere--

give me a reason to do what I want.

- (knock on door)
- Cheyenne and Black Hills

- Telegraph Company, Mr. Hearst.
- Mr. Blazanov.

Telegram for George Hearst.

I decline your gratuity, sir--
change in policy.

So where you gonna
take this, Richardson?

To finish curing in the smokehouse.

How long are you gonna
leave it in there?

Three weeks.

How you remember
three weeks is up?

The notch where I sleep

beside the notches for my other hams.

You getting the hang of this, Richardson.

So next time I ain't gonna ask you.

Only check did you make your notch.

You'll find it made, Aunt Lou.

Would you excuse us, sir?

Yes.

Odell is dead.

Jesus, help me.

They found him near
the road to Rapid City.

How they sure it's Odell?

The letters I gave him
were still on his person,

and his Bible bore his name.

Get away from 'round me, sir!

You don't have to feign
strength with me, Aunt Lou.

I ain't pretending shit!
Get the hell away from 'round me, sir!

My God! Oh my God!

(groans)

Jane:
Get out of my fucking light.

It's me.

Who is me? The fucking eclipse?

- Mose Manuel.
- Oh, really?

I thought it-- it was Giganto...

the runaway circus elephant.

Miss Stubbs has been looking for you.

Those kids need chaperoning
to the new schoolhouse, Jane.

I cannot hear you,

nor can I see you

any longer.

- You fucking drunken slob!
- No!

(heaving)

Get up and walk them kids.

Okay, Giganto!

Don't tusk me to death with your tusks.

How long do I have
to assemble myself?

- They'll be ready to go in a few minutes.
- Shut up.

- (both crying)
- Richardson: I'm sorry, Mama.

I'm so sorry.

I can't take it. I can't take it.

Who produced their weapon first?

Wyatt: They say they come out
at the same time.

We drew as one.

- That's a fucking lie.
- Charlie: Come here a second.

Shut up.

- Are you as sure about your timber lease?
- What do you mean?

As that this is truthful. Are you as sure
that lease ain't worth fuck-all?

- Absolutely fucking certain.
- Then nothing holds you here.

And arguing against you staying
is who this fuck-head works for,

and the man you shot...
in the fair fight.

Best you move on,

- taking your genius brother with you.
- Morgan: Um...

I ain't showed myself
to advantage here, Sheriff.

I'm fully fucking aware.

Martha:
Line up right there.

Stop. You're gonna stop right there.
Right there, stop.

Okay, step this way right here.

Okay, step this way.

(whispering)
Thank you.

Stay close.
I might need you for support.

I don't want to hold her hand.

You can lock arms instead.

(whispers)
Hey, okay, go ahead. Miss Stubbs?

(bell ringing)

Sheriff?

Tell him I ain't coming for his lecture.

Tell him I don't need it. Tell him if
my temper was gonna get the best of me,

this cocksucker's brains
would be on the floor.

Tell him I got it. All right?
Tell him I'm on top of it.

(bell ringing)

Sheriff.

Your finish, Charlie.

- I got it.
- I told Mrs. Bullock I'd walk with her.

Well, go ahead.
And hello to Miss Stubbs.

Man: Soap!
Soap with a prize inside!

Guaranteed prize
in every case of soap!

Soap! Soap with a prize inside.

Jack:
Hello! As we have

in Chicago, Denver

and San Francisco,

the Langrishe Troupe bids welcome

to the Deadwood camp!

Nights to come will
find us on the stage within.

Our enactments may bring
an odd tear to thine eye,

and may be relied upon
to produce guffaws

and howls of laughter.

This evening, however,
in memoriam of a passing colleague

whose jocund spirit

hovers over our gay fiesta,

I will give you his favorite epithet:

"All the world's a stage,

and all the men and women
merely players."

Tonight, we will be

the audience to you.

(footsteps approaching)

How are you feeling, Aunt Lou?

- I'm getting dinner ready.
- Don't.

Isn’t right you serving supper
to strangers when you're in such grief.

- I want to.
- No.

Ahem!

Kitchen's closed.

The sustenance I would take
in any case, Mr. Hearst,

like a newly-hatched bird,

would come, I would hope,
from your mouth.

(mimics bird screeching)

Don't follow so damn close.

Kill you if I could, George Hearst.

Sir! Do your tumble!
Do you have a colleague?

Tumble, sir! Tumble away!

- (crowd cheers)
- Magnificent!

Well done! Bravo!

A round of applause
for our dueling gymnasts!

And again, who's there next?

Ah, pick of the week!

On you go, sir.

Bravo! Bravo! Bravo.

Young lady, you'd raised your hand.

I have a sense you might
favor us with a song.

(singing gospel song)
♪ Jesus loves me ♪

♪ This I know ♪

- ♪ For the Bible... ♪
- Man: When my dad died, I didn't even cry.

Here you are, I'll give you a dollar.

You cry right for him right now.

Jack:
Oh! Look at this! Look!

- (applause and cheers)
- ♪ Is strong... ♪

That is the best fucking thing

- I have ever heard in my life!
- ♪ Yes, Jesus loves me-- ♪

- Indeed it is, sir!
- Get off me, sir!

Jack: Thank you, young lady,
thank you!

(laughing)

Hell, it's easy for you.
You didn't know the cocksucker.

(laughing)

What's the upshot?

What the fuck is that
supposed to mean?

I was arrested, I was locked up.
What's the upshot?

Charlie:
Go and sin no more.

- Go ahead, Charlie.
- Where?

Go ahead to the fucking
amateur night.

You don't mind?

All right.

I believe I'll attend badgeless,

lest I put a damper
on stupidities. (chuckles)

Hmm.

(gasps)

Hmm.

(gasps)

Grandpa's trick.

It is, yes.

And we oughtn't to let
that spoil it for us.

Jack: Such elegance!
Such dexterity!

Ah, magnifico, magnifico!

Let's hear it for the lariat lad.

Get outta here
with that fucking nonsense.

Get outta here before
I cut your fucking throat!

Go on! Fucking amateur night.

Some people gotta...

fucking work, hmm?

(audience applauding in distance)

Claudia: Look at this!

(people laugh and cheer)

Jack:
A mystery from the East.

(drum beating)

Magnificent, young lady.

Jack: Well done, young lady.
Well done, well done.

- (audience cheers)
- Ah!

Little fucking James, huh?

He is a chatterbox.

"Why why why?" Shut the fuck up
and maybe you'll find out.

He liked the tree house most of any.

What's a tree house doing
way the fuck up there?

I like them school kids.

Jack:
Well done, well done. Ah!

Orbs of gold!

- The wonderful Mr. Richardson...
- (crowd cheers)

...and his magic orbs.

And again, sir, and again.

And again, sir! Hidden talents!

Richardson!

- You're done.
- (crowd booing)

Envy is a cardinal sin, Mr. Farnum.

Cardinal sin.

How many are they?

265 soldiers have bivouacked
near Sturgis now.

Another 200 could be brought
to the Hills if needed.

Why can't the soldiers
near Sturgis vote twice?

Reinforcements are available should
poll watchers prove hostile to repeaters.

Come forward, God damn it.
My back fucking worsens.

I am so sorry, sir.

Better you dizzy than me have
to turn around and look at you.

These votes will support
candidates of your preference

in each office, Mr. Hearst,
as if cast by you yourself.

My stringent instruction
from Governor Pennington

is to convey upon my return

a confirmation in your hand

that we have had this conversation.

Then the Governor in turn
confirms the rumor he's a moron.

(Jarry laughs)

My heavens, no.

I don't mean that he would
seek your signature

on any itemizing of particulars,

merely to confirm
the fact that I spoke to you.

Jane:
Oh my God.

Cy: Oft confused
with the Most High,

though our inseams
got different lengths.

Fuck you. Fuck you!

(broom clatters)

You can't come in here, Cy.

I suppose I could if I want to.

If you need us to talk,
we can do it somewheres else.

- It ain't for you to come in here.
- Fuck you, Joanie Stubbs,

and your fucked-out whore's thinking
what's mine to come into and ain't.

Come on, girl.

Come on close.

Come on.

Mose! Help, Miss Stubbs.
I'm too afraid.

What a lovely tree

inside a building.

Is that a darling fucking tree house

in the precious fucking branches

for the shitheel little kids

to play amongst in jolly joy?

Get away, you!

- Well now, Mose.
- Go on!

You fat bastard.

I'll hold your heart in my hand
for your beady little rat eyes to look at

before I shove it
down your fucking throat!

Cy!

I wonder how till tonight I found
my way in the world at all,

not having my steps directed
at every fucking quarter.

- Go along.
- I got fucking places to go.

(school bell rings)

Isn’t this fun, man? Huh?

Jack:
Ah! The camp giant!

(audience cheers)

Oh!

What a figure.

What a figure.
Look at this! Look at this!

Look at that,
ladies and gentlemen.

Well done. Bravo bravo.

Bravo. Magnificent.

- Ah!
- Look at that.

(faint music)

(laughing)

Al: ♪ As I was a-walking
down by St. James Hospital ♪

♪ As I was a-walking
down by there one day ♪

♪ Who should I spy
but one of my comrades ♪

♪ All wrapped up in flannel
though green was the day ♪

♪ I asked him what ailed him,
I asked him what failed him \♪

♪ I asked him the cause
of all his complaint ♪

♪ "'Twas all on account
of some handsome young woman ♪

♪ 'Tis the reason why I weep
and lament ♪

♪ If she had but told me
before she disordered me ♪

♪ If she had but told me of it in time ♪

♪ I might have got pills ♪

♪ And salts of white mercury, but now
I'm cut down in the height of my prime ♪

♪ Get six young soldiers
to carry my coffin ♪

♪ And six young girls to sing me a song ♪

♪ And let each of them bear
a bunch of green laurel ♪

♪ So they don't have to smell me
as they bear me along ♪

♪ So don't muffle your drums
and play your fifes merrily ♪

♪ And play a quick march
as your carry me along ♪

♪ And blaze your bright muskets
all over my coffin ♪

♪ Saying 'There goes
an unfortunate lad to his home."' ♪

Ah!

(banjo music playing)