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Decavin' himself? No, no! d'ye see!
Never not decavin' nobody
Such times—like settled long ago,
And no use to be spakin' nor nothin', ye know;
But just to be happy, and have no bother
This way that way, one thing or another—
Happy, happy; allis the same—
Just to go on, and dhrame and dhrame.
Raelly happy. For this Nelly at Cain's
Made the man's blood go sweet in his veins—
Lifted the falla up from the mire
Of his spite, and his hate, and his hell-fire;
Grew like a lily or a pink
'll grow by the side of some dirty sink,
Or a midden— Hard? No, I'm not hard!
A midden in a farmyard!
A midden, by gough! I'll stick to that.
A midden or a tanyard vat—
My senses! a midden 's twice too gud for him.
A beauty for pinks and lilies to bud for him!
There now, there now! Labour in vain!
You've got him, you've got him! So take your Cain!