 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
She wasn' at home when the Pazon knocked,
No answer, at laste; and the door was locked
And Job away at the Clague's; and so
Of coorse the Pazon had to go.
But tried again next day; but never
No Mrs. Banks, that dodged him clever,
You'd be thinkin'—what? aw, well, well, well!
And next day, and next day; and it's hard to tell—
Weeks, it's lek—the Pazon was off
Every day to yandhar crof';
Weeks and weeks—and no use;
And poor Job tuk in at Brew's;
And wond'rin' greatly what had become
Of the mother; but still he had a home,
Of coorse; but terrible forsaken
Was Job, and sorrowful, and takin'
Up on the mountains and callin', callin'
“Mother! mother!” And chaps that was trawlin'
Down on the shore would feel a let,
And think they'd got her in the net—
But no! And Brew though, very kind;
And—“Never mind! never mind!
She'll be in Ramsey.” And axin' theer,
And Douglas, you know, and everywheer,
Till at last says Brew, “I'll wager she's gone
To Liverpool”; and “Lave her alone,
And she's all right.”
No answer, at laste; and the door was locked
And Job away at the Clague's; and so
Of coorse the Pazon had to go.
But tried again next day; but never
No Mrs. Banks, that dodged him clever,
You'd be thinkin'—what? aw, well, well, well!
And next day, and next day; and it's hard to tell—
Weeks, it's lek—the Pazon was off
Every day to yandhar crof';
Weeks and weeks—and no use;
And poor Job tuk in at Brew's;
And wond'rin' greatly what had become
Of the mother; but still he had a home,
Of coorse; but terrible forsaken
Was Job, and sorrowful, and takin'
Up on the mountains and callin', callin'
“Mother! mother!” And chaps that was trawlin'
Down on the shore would feel a let,
And think they'd got her in the net—
But no! And Brew though, very kind;
And—“Never mind! never mind!
She'll be in Ramsey.” And axin' theer,
And Douglas, you know, and everywheer,
Till at last says Brew, “I'll wager she's gone
589
And she's all right.”
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |