 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Then he laughted outright
When he thought of the Pazon and the way he cut,
And then he gev a little chut!
And “I have it!” he says, “it's Copper, guy heng!
Copper! that's the very theng!”
Copper—a mailie cow that was arrim,
Three cows, I think, not much of a farrim,
More like a croft, or the like of that—
“Copper—that's what he was at:
And knew I was wantin' to sell her—eh?
But couldn' go with her anyway
To the fair—that accounts for this scarum-scorum,
Freckened some would be before him—
That's the arly—dear me!
The anxious lek the man must be—
It'll come in the price, aw 'deed it will—
He's hot upon her—she's very lill,
But good uncommon—twelve I'll take for her,
Twelve pound ten.”—“And why didn' he spake for her?
Surely he might have axed,” says she.
“I suppose he forgot it.”—“Fiddlededee!”
Says Nessy—“Like the eggs,” says Brew,
And he-he-he and hoo-hoo-hoo—
They laughed and they laughed—“forgot!” “forgot!”
“Like the eggs,” “like the cow,” like the—go to pot!
“Forgot, no doubt, forgot!” and as merry
The two of them there—aw very, very.
When he thought of the Pazon and the way he cut,
And then he gev a little chut!
And “I have it!” he says, “it's Copper, guy heng!
Copper! that's the very theng!”
Copper—a mailie cow that was arrim,
Three cows, I think, not much of a farrim,
More like a croft, or the like of that—
“Copper—that's what he was at:
518
But couldn' go with her anyway
To the fair—that accounts for this scarum-scorum,
Freckened some would be before him—
That's the arly—dear me!
The anxious lek the man must be—
It'll come in the price, aw 'deed it will—
He's hot upon her—she's very lill,
But good uncommon—twelve I'll take for her,
Twelve pound ten.”—“And why didn' he spake for her?
Surely he might have axed,” says she.
“I suppose he forgot it.”—“Fiddlededee!”
Says Nessy—“Like the eggs,” says Brew,
And he-he-he and hoo-hoo-hoo—
They laughed and they laughed—“forgot!” “forgot!”
“Like the eggs,” “like the cow,” like the—go to pot!
“Forgot, no doubt, forgot!” and as merry
The two of them there—aw very, very.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |