 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
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And took a lodgin' in Guttery Gable,
Or somewhere—just one room they had;
But he worked like a haythen naygur, he did.
And the woman wasn' a bad soul e'ther,
Only a little cretchy rather—
Cretchy, or somethin' of the kind,
And uphouldin' the days she lived with Quine.
She shudn'! No, of coorse she shudn';
But—that's the times she got the puddin',
Heavin' it down the sink, she said—
Plenty of butter to her bread
Them times, she said: you know their way!
Women muss have somethin' to say—
Muss—and—yes, it was rather hard
On Tommy. But, bless ye! he didn' regard.
Tommy had a hope in his bussum,
Had Tommy—and'd take the childher, and nuss'em,
Or wash them, or anything at all:
Till at last the sisther gave a call
One everin': and she saw the nate
And comfible, and—gettin' late,
And—could she sit till mornin' there?
And cuddled her up in a arm-chair,
And had her breakfast, and liked the tay,
And never left them anyway—
Pride, eh? Turn your back, and Pride
'll ate all you'll give him, and more beside.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |