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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Ter'ble religious I got on the sudden?
Jemmy, ate your own pudden,
Do now, do! it'd be a dale batter;
You don't know much about the matter,
Not much, I think. There was used to be once
A thing they was callin' innocence—
Now then, Jemmy! It's God that picks them,
These lovers, and He stands betwix' them;
Every look, and every breath
Is God's; they're faithful unto death,
Because God is faithful; not thinkin' of Him,
Lek enough, but Him of them
Sartin sure. No saint wasn' Jack,
Nor Nessy ither, lek you'll see in a track—
No! but only the nither'd ha' seen
The other in trouble for the wealth of the Queen;
And if it had happened, I'll tell ye what—
Jack'd ha' cut his throat like a shot,
And Nessy's too—bless ye! outragers!
Hot as fire! so that's the relajers!
Jemmy, ate your own pudden,
Do now, do! it'd be a dale batter;
You don't know much about the matter,
Not much, I think. There was used to be once
A thing they was callin' innocence—
Now then, Jemmy! It's God that picks them,
These lovers, and He stands betwix' them;
Every look, and every breath
Is God's; they're faithful unto death,
Because God is faithful; not thinkin' of Him,
Lek enough, but Him of them
Sartin sure. No saint wasn' Jack,
Nor Nessy ither, lek you'll see in a track—
No! but only the nither'd ha' seen
The other in trouble for the wealth of the Queen;
And if it had happened, I'll tell ye what—
Jack'd ha' cut his throat like a shot,
And Nessy's too—bless ye! outragers!
Hot as fire! so that's the relajers!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |