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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
But still I was useder till Harry, that never
Went to any place whatever—
A reg'lar haythen surt of a chap,
Lek these Dalby fellows is very ap',
Ap' enough—and hadn' no notion
How to behave, and a surt of a ocean
Of spit at this divil; the whole of the pew
Nearly swimmin'—aw, it's true! it's true!
And'd mark some speck in the grain, or a knot
In the timber, and fire a splandid shot.
I know he could do it—of coorse he could—
Bless ye! that was understood.
And I warned him once, and I warned him twice—
I did, I did! and it isn' nice.
No it isn', in church, eh? what?
It's a dirty, savage thing is that.
The Clerk's wife had to clane it out
Agin the next Sunday—treminjus stout
That woman was—and then the churchwardens—
Kneale Ballagill, and Stole the Gardens—
Made a presantment—is that it?
That they couldn' pozzibly do with spit
In the church like yandhar; but just to annoy
The Pazon, because he was takin' joy
Of the leks of me—I knew them, blow them!
And so did everybody know them.
Went to any place whatever—
A reg'lar haythen surt of a chap,
Lek these Dalby fellows is very ap',
Ap' enough—and hadn' no notion
How to behave, and a surt of a ocean
Of spit at this divil; the whole of the pew
Nearly swimmin'—aw, it's true! it's true!
And'd mark some speck in the grain, or a knot
In the timber, and fire a splandid shot.
I know he could do it—of coorse he could—
Bless ye! that was understood.
And I warned him once, and I warned him twice—
I did, I did! and it isn' nice.
No it isn', in church, eh? what?
It's a dirty, savage thing is that.
The Clerk's wife had to clane it out
Agin the next Sunday—treminjus stout
That woman was—and then the churchwardens—
Kneale Ballagill, and Stole the Gardens—
Made a presantment—is that it?
That they couldn' pozzibly do with spit
In the church like yandhar; but just to annoy
578
Of the leks of me—I knew them, blow them!
And so did everybody know them.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |