University of Virginia Library

And Tommy had a fiddle too,
And I don't know what was there he couldn' do
With yandhar fiddle, the way it'd mock
Everything—it 'd crow like a cock,
It'd hoot like a donkey, it 'd moo like a cow;
It'd cry like a baby, it 'd grunt like a sow,
Or a thrush, or a pigeon, or a lark, or a linnet—
You'd really thought they were livin' in it.
But the tunes he was playin'—that was the thing
Like squeezin' honey from the string;
Like milkin' a fiddle—no jerks, no squeaks—
And the tears upon the misthress' cheeks.
And sometimes he'd play a dance—and what harm!
But she wouldn' have it upon the farm,
The misthress wouldn'—dancin', I mean—
It didn' matter so much for the play'n':
But she'd often stop him, and ask would he change
To a nice slow tune, and Tommy would range
Up and down the strings, and sliddher
Into the key; and then he'd feather
The bow very fine, and a sort of a hum,
Like a bee röund a flower, and out it 'd come—
“Ould Robin Gray,” or the “Lover's Ghost”—
That's the two she liked the most:
And the gels, that only a minute afore
Were ready to jump and clear the floor,
Sat still on the form, but onaisy though,
And terr'ble disappointed, you know.
And sometimes they'd be coaxin' Tommy to take
The fiddle out in the orchard, and shake
His funny-bone over a jig or a reel—
Something to tickle a body's heel,
Says one of the gels—and “I'll give you a kiss!
Faith, I will then, Tommy!” she says:
And Tommy that blushed to the roots of his hair;
But still, he said, no matter where,
If the misthress wasn' willing,
He wouldn'—and, “Tommy, we'll give you a shillin'!”
And coaxin' away: but he didn' regard them.
And anyway, you know, she'd have heard them.