 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown
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But Duddon that was the chap for the law—
Terr'ble, but terr'bler for the jaw—
Aw, a mortal hand! He's laid on the shelf
Since then. But he'd bully ould Harry himself
Them times. Aw, bless ye!—fire and slaughter!
Put Duddon on them, and they'd cry for quarter.
So it's Duddon Tommy wanted to see,
And tould him all; and, “Lave it to me!”
Says Duddon, and bitin' his pen, and lookin'
As deep as deep: so Tommy was hookin'.
Poor Tommy, though—the shaky and shivery
He was. And “The General Jail Delivery”—
That was the time. And them words seemed cut
In every stone the craythur put
In a wall. They seemed to be wrote in the air,
On the sands, in the harbour—everywhere.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown
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