So my maister he very soon gone me the sack,
And my faither he gone me the stick to my back;
But I cared for his bangins and blows not a rap;
I wor sich a queer onaccountable chap!
To make a long story as short as I can;
When I'd done as a boy, I became a young man;
And, as happens to most men at that time o' life,
I axed a young 'ooman if she'd be my wife.
And Poll she consented. O, how my heart beat,
When she gone me her hand, smilin' wonderful sweet!
I could hear my heart beatin', just like a Church bell,
Till I thought as my weskit 'ud bust pretty well.
But worn't I main happy, and well nigh a crazy,
When I heard her her say "Yes," blushin' sweet as a daisy!
We was axed in the church—no one dared to say nay;
So The Rector he spliced us, one fine soommer day.
My Poll wor a steady young gal, and a good 'un
For washin' and scrubbin', and makin' a pudden;
Not one o them gossiping gals, wot I hate,
But a quoietish 'ooman, wi' brains in her pate.
But soom how or other things didn't go right;
There wasn't atwixt us no manner o' spite;
But I stayed out o' Saturdays nights, and I fear
Spent more nor I'd ought on my baccy and beer.
And Poll she look'd sadly, but didn't say nought;
She was one as 'ud allers say less than she thought;
But I know'd what she thought—so a cloud kind o' come,
And darkened the sun as once shone in our home,
But it come to a pass—'twas the fifth o' November,
The day and the year I shall allers remember:
Twas midnight and past when I come to my door,
Scarce able to stan'—well, I won't say no more?
Next mornin' my head it wor well nigh a splitten,
And I stagger'd and stagger'd, as weak as a kitten;
But the wust of it all wor the dressin' I got
From Polly—oh, worn't it main spicy and hot?
What she said I won't tell you; but you married men,
As knows wot it is to be pecked by a hen,
Wot I means yer to guess pretty plainish 'ull find,
When I tells you she gone me "a bit of her mind."