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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
533
And promised there, but he wouldn' sign
In blood, no, no! “It's usual done,”
Says Jack, but didn' see the fun,
Didn' Harry, but just to be
On the same shift, and glad to get free
Of this chap and all his hollabaloo—
A day shift it was too,
Comin' off about five in the everin',
And washed, I tell ye, and as nate as a pin,
And no hurry at all, but the smile on the face,
And plenty of chaps about the place,
Souljerin' there, but off on the sly
One after the other—“I think I'll try
Is the troutsis bitin',” they'd say, or bitendin'
To meet the coach, or had to be mendin'
Something at home; and'd walk that slack,
And the hands in the pockets, and the swing of the back,
And the slink and the slouch. But, out of sight,
Up to the Ballaquine with them straight—
Hedges and ditches; but, when they'd get near,
They'd slack again—aw, never fear!
And standin' and starin' very hard
At some oats, or some clover, or a pig in the yard,
Or—anything; or lookin' lek wond'rin'
How they come theer at all, and blund'rin'
In on the back, and in on the front,
Or the barn, or the haggard; and a surt of a grunt,
And a heave, and a start, lek “Bless my sowl!
Is this the Ballaquine?” And'd rowl
Their eyes most ter'ble, and amazin' to meet
The lot of them theer upon the street.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |