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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
I don't hould no more till you
With allis cryin', boo-boo-boo!
Shlishin'-slushin', snittle-snottle;
But “Put my tears in thy bottle,”
Says David, “thy bottle,” lek God, it's meant,
Had a bottle arrim, lek fillin' with scent,
And like enough a goold stopper—
Aw, beautiful! but must be a whopper
To hould all the tears—a sort of decanter,
Lek silver-mounted—but I wouldn' vanture
To say it was really that, but just
To give you a notion, the way we must
With the lek, of coorse, bein' what ye may call—
Aye, man, aye—but aisy all!
With allis cryin', boo-boo-boo!
Shlishin'-slushin', snittle-snottle;
But “Put my tears in thy bottle,”
Says David, “thy bottle,” lek God, it's meant,
Had a bottle arrim, lek fillin' with scent,
And like enough a goold stopper—
Aw, beautiful! but must be a whopper
To hould all the tears—a sort of decanter,
Lek silver-mounted—but I wouldn' vanture
To say it was really that, but just
To give you a notion, the way we must
With the lek, of coorse, bein' what ye may call—
Aye, man, aye—but aisy all!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |