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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Yes, he come—he come from the South,
And butter wouldn' melt in his mouth—
Yandhar man! And the holy, you never!
And getting the name, you know, of the clever!
At the Methodists—bless ye! brought him over
A-purpose to see would he do for a lover—
Renshent's heiress! aw dear! they knew
Which side their bread was butterin' too.
So nither way no love was meant;
She got religion (!), and he got Renshent.
She hadn' a notion, I expeck,
To have him for a husband lek
Lek husbands is, you know, but just
A guardian lek, that was put in trust
With her sowl, like a guide the Lord had given
To lead her studdy on to Heaven—
A Christian brother and a Christian sisther,
And if this Cain had ha' took and kissed her,
He'd ha' spoilt it all. But—cautious! cautious!
Bless ye! that's the stuff that washes!
And her to tell him the whole of her story,
And hand-in-hand with him on to glory—
That's what she thought—her foot couldn' slip
In such holy communion and fellowship.
The big Tom-cat! the smooth and the sleek
And the soft, and the whisker on his cheek
Just like blackin' on a boot,
And his nice white hands, and—ough! the brute!
And—“Oh,” he says, “the unselfish love!”
Renshent, you know, he was thinkin' of!
And butter wouldn' melt in his mouth—
Yandhar man! And the holy, you never!
And getting the name, you know, of the clever!
At the Methodists—bless ye! brought him over
A-purpose to see would he do for a lover—
284
Which side their bread was butterin' too.
So nither way no love was meant;
She got religion (!), and he got Renshent.
She hadn' a notion, I expeck,
To have him for a husband lek
Lek husbands is, you know, but just
A guardian lek, that was put in trust
With her sowl, like a guide the Lord had given
To lead her studdy on to Heaven—
A Christian brother and a Christian sisther,
And if this Cain had ha' took and kissed her,
He'd ha' spoilt it all. But—cautious! cautious!
Bless ye! that's the stuff that washes!
And her to tell him the whole of her story,
And hand-in-hand with him on to glory—
That's what she thought—her foot couldn' slip
In such holy communion and fellowship.
The big Tom-cat! the smooth and the sleek
And the soft, and the whisker on his cheek
Just like blackin' on a boot,
And his nice white hands, and—ough! the brute!
And—“Oh,” he says, “the unselfish love!”
Renshent, you know, he was thinkin' of!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |