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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
And was the coortin' over and done?
No, but, the winter comin' on,
It had to be in the house, you see;
And the dooiney-molla for company
For ould Brew, that liked him well—
This Harry. And sometimes they'd take a spell
At the paper they got, the Sun, or the Times,
Or Mona's Harral —latthars, rhymes,
Speeches—not much odds to them
What they had. And the ould chap's hem!
Ahem! dear me! and rubbin' and rubbin'
His specks; and the two of them goin' a clubbin'
Their heads together; but couldn' make much of it—
Ould Brew, it's lek, could make some surt of Dutch of it;
But Harry could only scratch his nut—
Didn' know B from a bull's foot.
And—“Can you see it, Harry?” and Harry pretendin',
And hadn' azackly got his hand in,
No—and another rub on his sleeve
At Brew, and eyein', and what to believe?
And—was Harry humbuggin'? and 'spicious rather;
And then he'd dhrop it altogether.
No, but, the winter comin' on,
It had to be in the house, you see;
And the dooiney-molla for company
For ould Brew, that liked him well—
This Harry. And sometimes they'd take a spell
At the paper they got, the Sun, or the Times,
Or Mona's Harral —latthars, rhymes,
Speeches—not much odds to them
What they had. And the ould chap's hem!
Ahem! dear me! and rubbin' and rubbin'
His specks; and the two of them goin' a clubbin'
Their heads together; but couldn' make much of it—
Ould Brew, it's lek, could make some surt of Dutch of it;
But Harry could only scratch his nut—
Didn' know B from a bull's foot.
And—“Can you see it, Harry?” and Harry pretendin',
And hadn' azackly got his hand in,
No—and another rub on his sleeve
At Brew, and eyein', and what to believe?
And—was Harry humbuggin'? and 'spicious rather;
And then he'd dhrop it altogether.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |