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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
So Dobson come in with a speech to make to them,
But he laughed that hearty he cudn' spake to them.
For, the time he come, they were goin' to bed,
And the women had rigged a hammock, he said,
And rove it up to the roof with a tackle;
And the minute they heard him, my gough! the cackle!
And “Tommy, you fool!” and “Tommy, you dirt!”
And Tommy standin' in his shirt—
“Here's Pazon Dobson! for all the sakes!
Tommy! ! ! ” and in a brace of shakes
Heaves, and whips him up to a bame,
Like a flitch of bacon, and makes fast the same,
And laves him danglin' under the laths,
And turns about, and smooths their brats,
And—“Good evenin', Sir!” and curtseyin'—
Aw dear! the Pazon laughed like sin.
And “Tommy, how are ye gettin' on upstairs?”
He says, and “Did ye say your prayers,
Tommy?” that's all, bein' giv'n to jokin',
And out, and down the sthreet, and chokin'.
But still a dale more dacenter
To have the falla slung up there—
Just a block, and a strong hook,
And a promise at Tommy he wouldn' look,
And then they could sthrip, and out with the light,
And in to the childher with them straight.
But he laughed that hearty he cudn' spake to them.
301
And the women had rigged a hammock, he said,
And rove it up to the roof with a tackle;
And the minute they heard him, my gough! the cackle!
And “Tommy, you fool!” and “Tommy, you dirt!”
And Tommy standin' in his shirt—
“Here's Pazon Dobson! for all the sakes!
Tommy! ! ! ” and in a brace of shakes
Heaves, and whips him up to a bame,
Like a flitch of bacon, and makes fast the same,
And laves him danglin' under the laths,
And turns about, and smooths their brats,
And—“Good evenin', Sir!” and curtseyin'—
Aw dear! the Pazon laughed like sin.
And “Tommy, how are ye gettin' on upstairs?”
He says, and “Did ye say your prayers,
Tommy?” that's all, bein' giv'n to jokin',
And out, and down the sthreet, and chokin'.
But still a dale more dacenter
To have the falla slung up there—
Just a block, and a strong hook,
And a promise at Tommy he wouldn' look,
And then they could sthrip, and out with the light,
And in to the childher with them straight.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |