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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
583
Look here! we'll have no disrespack
To Pazon Gale! No cussin' here!
No cussin' before the Pazon, theer!”
'Deed I spoke savage; for, traycle or botter,
Manners is manners—that's my motter.
But bless ye! the Pazon didn' take
The smallest notice; he'd hev gev him a shake
Sure enough, if it hedn' ha' been
The ter'ble bothered and 'cited he seen
Poor Jack was—for ye musn' suppose
The Pazon'd hide his head under the clothes
When cussin' was goin'—not him! What! cussin'
Before the Pazon? My gough! ye dussin'—
The chaps wudn' have it! It wasn' him,
But us, by G—d. It's limb from limb
We'd ha' tore the divil that dar'd to 'sult
Ould Pazon Gale. But Jack was pull't
Very sore in his heart; and the Pazon was kind,
And so, ye see, he didn' mind—
No—
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |