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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Now it wasn' a meetin' they had at all,
Lek they're callin' it special general,
Of the 'ciety, but just drop in
Anybody, and yarns to spin
And talk to talk. So Harry Creer
Wasn' bound to tell them theer
Why he didn' shake the head,
Lek meanin' nothin' done or said
At Nessy to him that week, you know,
But Jack was feelin' dreadful low,
For Nessy had spoke to him sure enough,
But ter'ble savage, ter'ble rough,
And the dirty turn-out and sent him flyin',
And he must never come near the Ballaquine—
“Ye nasty thing! you're not fit,
You're no better till a ideit!”
Lek they're callin' it special general,
Of the 'ciety, but just drop in
Anybody, and yarns to spin
And talk to talk. So Harry Creer
Wasn' bound to tell them theer
Why he didn' shake the head,
529
At Nessy to him that week, you know,
But Jack was feelin' dreadful low,
For Nessy had spoke to him sure enough,
But ter'ble savage, ter'ble rough,
And the dirty turn-out and sent him flyin',
And he must never come near the Ballaquine—
“Ye nasty thing! you're not fit,
You're no better till a ideit!”
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |