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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Little she wasn', no! doodoss!
But aw, the funny the Pazon was!
Good though, good; aw, bless your heart!
That's the timber'll navar start.
'Bout ship, sir! aye immadient,
And then this poor ould reverend gent,
Backards and forrards the best of the night
Drivin' there, a most shockin' sight,
If he could ha' been seen; but made up his mind
At last to go on to Ballaquine,
Brew's farm that was lyin' east,
Far beyond the Pazon's place,
And he'd tell the father and see would he go
To look for his daughter himself . . . and so
But aw, the funny the Pazon was!
Good though, good; aw, bless your heart!
That's the timber'll navar start.
'Bout ship, sir! aye immadient,
And then this poor ould reverend gent,
Backards and forrards the best of the night
Drivin' there, a most shockin' sight,
If he could ha' been seen; but made up his mind
At last to go on to Ballaquine,
Brew's farm that was lyin' east,
Far beyond the Pazon's place,
And he'd tell the father and see would he go
To look for his daughter himself . . . and so
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |