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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
But Jack was mad,
And wouldn' spake, like sulks he had—
Sullen, sulky. But Harry, so soon
As he got his wind in a bit, was in tune
For a talk, and talked, and tould me the row,
And he said they'd been at it from seven till now;
And what time would that be? And I looked at my watch—
The best of two hours!—“Why murder's a patch
To divils like you,” I says. “I doubt
It was swingin' in and swingin' out
All the time,” says Harry, “wheelin'
Like a windmill,” says Harry, “toein'-and-heelin',
Despard!” he said. And him to be houlin'
Jack right over, and rowlin' and rowlin',
But wouldn' dhrop him—no! but try'n'
To haul him back from the mouth of the mine.
But he'd stick his feet agin the bank,
And stiffen his body like a plank
(“I see ye,” I says), and clitch and clutch,
And all along of a dirty wutch.
And wouldn' spake, like sulks he had—
Sullen, sulky. But Harry, so soon
As he got his wind in a bit, was in tune
For a talk, and talked, and tould me the row,
And he said they'd been at it from seven till now;
And what time would that be? And I looked at my watch—
The best of two hours!—“Why murder's a patch
To divils like you,” I says. “I doubt
It was swingin' in and swingin' out
All the time,” says Harry, “wheelin'
Like a windmill,” says Harry, “toein'-and-heelin',
Despard!” he said. And him to be houlin'
Jack right over, and rowlin' and rowlin',
But wouldn' dhrop him—no! but try'n'
To haul him back from the mouth of the mine.
But he'd stick his feet agin the bank,
And stiffen his body like a plank
(“I see ye,” I says), and clitch and clutch,
And all along of a dirty wutch.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |