The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown

That you'll maybe be wondhrin' the change, d'ye hear!
The change that come on Harry Creer
The aunt—the aunt; aye! that's the woman—
Misthriss Banks, and hemmin' and hummin',
And hintin'—but wait a bit—a wedda
She was, and lived above the medda
At the Ballaquine—a kind of a 'cess
Up there, bein' rather a boosely place;
And the house like these sheds where the herrin's is saltin'
At Derby Haven—a reg'lar thalthin!
Herself and her son was livin' there,
But how she was livin'—well, I'll swear
I don't know, and still I do.
Ye see, he was an aisy man, was Brew;
But he wouldn' have her in the house,
No he wouldn'; and the wuss of his cows
He gave her—and just a bit of a crof'
T' other side of the gill that was wallin' off
From the farm, lek separate, more of a Lhergy
Than anything else. And a chap called Curghey
Was jinin' next to her—Curphey—says Jem—
Curghey and Curphey's all the same—
Miser'ble land, hafe rock, hafe feerins
And the rest of it cushags, and havin' its bearin's
Nor'-west of the Ballaquine. But she didn'
Live on her land, let alone her midden,
Nor the cow; for the cow was starvin' with her,
And the croft it navar got nothin' ither,
No care, nor 'tintion: not much for work
Wasn' Misthriss Banks. If she'd had the Perk
Of Barrule—Llewellyn's? to be sure!
Owned at William Fyne Moor—
She'd ha' been just the same. So how then, how
Was the woman livin'? Don't make a row!
I'll tell ye; the woman was livin' on a pension
From a sartin party we'd best not mention—
She done his work, and she earned his wages,

549

Aw, that's the terms the ould chap engages—
He's got his grip o' them—touch for touch—
A wutch? Of coorse she was a wutch,
And a black wutch, the wuss that's goin'—
The white is—well, I'm hardly knowin'
Is the lek in: but these ould things
That's sellin' charms to sailors, rings,
Papers, ye know—why, bless my sowl!
Here's one at me —it's middlin' oul',
Wore I don't know the teens of years
On my heart here, look, la! Sally Tear's
The woman that sould it—in Castletown—
Queen Street—aye—and half-a-crown . . .
I 'spose the most of ye's got the lek
Somewhere hung around your neck.

Widow.

Meadow.

Recess, nook.

Beastly, rough.

Half-ruined cottage.

Worst.

High waste-land.

Half.

Ferns.

Ragwort.

Park, large enclosure.

By.

Witch.

Do such exist.

In my possession.

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