 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Aw, very bad! very bad!
And then we took and sent a lad
For a cart for Nelly, and another to go
So quick as he could, and let them know
At the Ballaglass. So we got the cart,
And Nelly a heisin', and made a start.
But the Captain's body was left in a cove,
And chaps to watch it. So on we drove,
And the poor gel there hangin' all of a dangle,
Sthrooghin' just the same as a tangle—
The limp, you know; and her clothes all twisted
And ruxed about her; and the way she listed
This way, that way—So we done our endeavour,
And up to the house with her howsomedever—
And Where to put her? and—bear a hand there!
And—“The hayloft 'll do for the lek o' yandhar—”
Says Cain—“The hayloft!” and I gave a star' —
“Is it wantin' to feed the rots ye are?
Haylofts!” I says. So he grunted though;
But what was he goin' to say I don't know;
For the misthress come, so soft and swift,
Like ghos'es comes, ye know—just a whiff
Of somethin' white—like an owl's wing—
And she ran at Nelly like a greedy thing;
And Nelly lifted up her head,
And fell in the misthress' arms like dead.
And then we took and sent a lad
For a cart for Nelly, and another to go
So quick as he could, and let them know
At the Ballaglass. So we got the cart,
And Nelly a heisin', and made a start.
But the Captain's body was left in a cove,
And chaps to watch it. So on we drove,
And the poor gel there hangin' all of a dangle,
Sthrooghin' just the same as a tangle—
The limp, you know; and her clothes all twisted
And ruxed about her; and the way she listed
This way, that way—So we done our endeavour,
And up to the house with her howsomedever—
And Where to put her? and—bear a hand there!
And—“The hayloft 'll do for the lek o' yandhar—”
Says Cain—“The hayloft!” and I gave a star' —
“Is it wantin' to feed the rots ye are?
Haylofts!” I says. So he grunted though;
But what was he goin' to say I don't know;
For the misthress come, so soft and swift,
Like ghos'es comes, ye know—just a whiff
Of somethin' white—like an owl's wing—
And she ran at Nelly like a greedy thing;
297
And fell in the misthress' arms like dead.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |