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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
The way that chap was knocked about
Was just a scandal. You hit him a clout
Whenever you saw him—that was the style:
Hit him once, and you'd get him to smile:
Hit him twice, and he'd drop the head;
Hommer away till you'd think he was dead.
And he'd stand like a drum, as if his skin
Was a sheep's, and made for hommerin'.
Then his hair was so thick it was nice to grab it,
And pull it back like skinnin' a rabbit,
Till he'd have to look up, as you may suppose;
And then you could welt him under the nose.
I do believe the cruellest fien's
In the world is a parcel of boys in their teens,
One of them stirrin' up the other.
But still, for all, the divil's mother
Should have looked a little more to the way
The chap was rigged; for it isn't fair play
To dress a lad that's goin' to school
As if he was born to be a fool.
Fancy a frill around his neck!
What in the world could the woman expec'?
And his trousers buttonin' outside
Of his jacket, like these fellows that ride
At the races. Surely, it might occur—
Well, she'd a deal to answer for.
Was just a scandal. You hit him a clout
243
Hit him once, and you'd get him to smile:
Hit him twice, and he'd drop the head;
Hommer away till you'd think he was dead.
And he'd stand like a drum, as if his skin
Was a sheep's, and made for hommerin'.
Then his hair was so thick it was nice to grab it,
And pull it back like skinnin' a rabbit,
Till he'd have to look up, as you may suppose;
And then you could welt him under the nose.
I do believe the cruellest fien's
In the world is a parcel of boys in their teens,
One of them stirrin' up the other.
But still, for all, the divil's mother
Should have looked a little more to the way
The chap was rigged; for it isn't fair play
To dress a lad that's goin' to school
As if he was born to be a fool.
Fancy a frill around his neck!
What in the world could the woman expec'?
And his trousers buttonin' outside
Of his jacket, like these fellows that ride
At the races. Surely, it might occur—
Well, she'd a deal to answer for.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |