Page:Love Poems and Others.djvu/64

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To such a thing: but it’s a poor tale, that I’m bound to say,Before I can ta’e thee I’ve got a widow of forty-five to pay.
Dunnat thee think but what I love thee—I love thee well,But ’deed an’ I wish as this tale o’ thine wor niver my tale to tell;Deed an’ I wish as I could stood at the altar wi’ thee an’ been proud o’ thee,That I could ha’ been first woman to thee, as thou’rt first man to me.
But we maun ma’e the best on’t—I’ll rear thy childt if ’er’ll yield it to me,An’ then wi’ that twenty pound we gi’e ’er I s’d think ’er wunna beSo very much worser off than ’er wor before—An’ now look upAn’ answer me—for I’ve said my say, an’ there’s no more sorrow to sup.
Yi, tha’rt a man, tha’rt a fine big man, but niver a baby had eyesAs sulky an’ ormin’ as thine. Hast owt to say otherwiseFrom what I’ve arranged wi’ thee? Eh man, what a stubborn jackass thou art,Kiss me then—there!—ne’er mind if I scraight—I wor fond o’ thee, Sweetheart.

lii.

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