 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
And then she'd make her note that sweet
And soft and trimblin'—it was like the tweet
Of a young duck. And—Wasn' he nice
This Jack?—aw dear! and couldn' he tice
The arm off a gel? And—Wasn' he a love?
And wasn' he a darlin'?—and a surt of a shove
With the words, like arrars from the quivers,
Sendin' Jack in the fits of shivers.
And soft and trimblin'—it was like the tweet
Of a young duck. And—Wasn' he nice
This Jack?—aw dear! and couldn' he tice
The arm off a gel? And—Wasn' he a love?
And wasn' he a darlin'?—and a surt of a shove
With the words, like arrars from the quivers,
Sendin' Jack in the fits of shivers.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |