 | I. |
 | II. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| III. |
 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
So the Banks to go and Jack to stay.
But the coortin' was bruk at them anyway,
That night at least; for the aunt was gone
Like whisked through the keyhole; but Nessy was done,
Done complate, and trimblin' theer
Most awful. And—“Darlin'!” and “Navar fear!”
At Jack; but no use, and tuk and crept
Back in her bed, but never slept,
And worked at this wutch like the say is workin'
With a tidesway, and all her body jerkin'
And tossin' like a fever; and oh!
What would she do? And she'd go, she'd go
First thing in the mornin', she muss! she muss!
And coax her that she wouldn' cuss
This Jack. But still the gel was fearin'
The cuss'd be done afore daylight appearin'—
Burnin' somethin', or raisin' the divil,
Or God knows what. And why wasn' he civil?
Civil, just civil! Aw Jack then! Jack then!
The pity! And—Would she call him back then?
Back! back! back! And jumps to the windher—
But Jack was gone. “He'll be burned to a cindher,”
Says Nessy—poor sowl! You see, she knew
The despard things these wutches can do
On all your body—aw, horrid they can!
Horrid, I tell ye. But that was the plan,
For Jack was for bustin' in the door,
No matter whether Brew to snore
Or not to snore. “Who knows if she's dyin'?”
And even to think of her theer a lyin'!
God bless him! And he made a run, but caught
At Harry straight, that said he thought
They'd better make haste, you know, and give sheet
After this wutch. And over the street,
And over the hedges and over the ditches,
And away for the Gill, but Harry got stitches
In his side or the lek, and puffin' and pantin',
And couldn' hould on, and began a slantin'
For the road, bein' middlin' freckened she'd come
In some shape or another, like a corpse, by gum!
Or a modda-doo, goin' bawwawin',
Or a tarroo-ushtey, or a muck-awin,
Or—“Stop!” he says, “aw, stop then! stop!”
And—Bless his sowl! he was like to drop;
And a cow gave a cough—aw, Harry roared,
And Harry screeched, and Harry implored,
And Jack that bothered he had to give in;
And the two of them home with a safe skin
To Harry's lodgin', and slept together,
But beat, and feelin' foolish rather.
But the coortin' was bruk at them anyway,
That night at least; for the aunt was gone
Like whisked through the keyhole; but Nessy was done,
Done complate, and trimblin' theer
Most awful. And—“Darlin'!” and “Navar fear!”
At Jack; but no use, and tuk and crept
Back in her bed, but never slept,
And worked at this wutch like the say is workin'
With a tidesway, and all her body jerkin'
And tossin' like a fever; and oh!
What would she do? And she'd go, she'd go
First thing in the mornin', she muss! she muss!
And coax her that she wouldn' cuss
This Jack. But still the gel was fearin'
The cuss'd be done afore daylight appearin'—
Burnin' somethin', or raisin' the divil,
Or God knows what. And why wasn' he civil?
Civil, just civil! Aw Jack then! Jack then!
The pity! And—Would she call him back then?
Back! back! back! And jumps to the windher—
But Jack was gone. “He'll be burned to a cindher,”
Says Nessy—poor sowl! You see, she knew
The despard things these wutches can do
On all your body—aw, horrid they can!
Horrid, I tell ye. But that was the plan,
For Jack was for bustin' in the door,
557
Or not to snore. “Who knows if she's dyin'?”
And even to think of her theer a lyin'!
God bless him! And he made a run, but caught
At Harry straight, that said he thought
They'd better make haste, you know, and give sheet
After this wutch. And over the street,
And over the hedges and over the ditches,
And away for the Gill, but Harry got stitches
In his side or the lek, and puffin' and pantin',
And couldn' hould on, and began a slantin'
For the road, bein' middlin' freckened she'd come
In some shape or another, like a corpse, by gum!
Or a modda-doo, goin' bawwawin',
Or a tarroo-ushtey, or a muck-awin,
Or—“Stop!” he says, “aw, stop then! stop!”
And—Bless his sowl! he was like to drop;
And a cow gave a cough—aw, Harry roared,
And Harry screeched, and Harry implored,
And Jack that bothered he had to give in;
And the two of them home with a safe skin
To Harry's lodgin', and slept together,
But beat, and feelin' foolish rather.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |