 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
But Jack was ter'ble perseverin'—
“They're jokin' her,” he says, “and provokin' her,” he says,
“Till she ups and at them out and in,
And gives them the imperince of sin—
And isn' nathral in her—no!
And it's spilin' the gel; and it's boosely show!
And she isn' nice that way a bit,
And it isn' right, and it isn' fit;
And you've got the 'torrity, Masthar Brew,
So give them it! aw do, aw do!”
“'Torrity,” says Brew, “gallivantin'!
I'll 'torrity them, if it's that what you're wantin'.
'Torrity!” and as grim as grim—
So this was the way he 'torritied them.
“They're jokin' her,” he says, “and provokin' her,” he says,
“Till she ups and at them out and in,
And gives them the imperince of sin—
And isn' nathral in her—no!
And it's spilin' the gel; and it's boosely show!
And she isn' nice that way a bit,
And it isn' right, and it isn' fit;
And you've got the 'torrity, Masthar Brew,
So give them it! aw do, aw do!”
“'Torrity,” says Brew, “gallivantin'!
I'll 'torrity them, if it's that what you're wantin'.
'Torrity!” and as grim as grim—
So this was the way he 'torritied them.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |