 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Then Tommy was at the misthress to get her
To think that the viol-bass was better
Till the fiddle itself, bein' full of power,
Says Tommy, and the fiddle apt to be sour,
And thin in the top; but the viol, he said,
Was studdy, and sure, and keepin' its head
On the small edge of nothing; no baby, not him!
“But a fine big lusty cherubim,
That takes the half of Jacob's ladder
At a leap,” he says, or—“maybe, rather,
Like a beautiful man, that loves you,” he says,
“And turns your sorrows to happiness.”
'Deed the misthress looked to see what he meant;
But—innocent, bless ye! innocent—
Hadn' a notion, not him, the sowl!
Aw, as innocent as a biddhag bowl!
To think that the viol-bass was better
Till the fiddle itself, bein' full of power,
Says Tommy, and the fiddle apt to be sour,
And thin in the top; but the viol, he said,
Was studdy, and sure, and keepin' its head
265
“But a fine big lusty cherubim,
That takes the half of Jacob's ladder
At a leap,” he says, or—“maybe, rather,
Like a beautiful man, that loves you,” he says,
“And turns your sorrows to happiness.”
'Deed the misthress looked to see what he meant;
But—innocent, bless ye! innocent—
Hadn' a notion, not him, the sowl!
Aw, as innocent as a biddhag bowl!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |