Och! it made me heart ache whin I paped through the cracks
Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin’ yer axe;
An’ a bobbin’ yer head an’ a shtompin’ yer fate,
Wid yer purty white hands jisht as red as a bate,
A-sphlittin’ yer kindlin’-wood out in the shtorm,
When one little shtove it would kape us both warm!”
“Now, piggy,” said she;
“Larrie’s courtin’ o’ me,
Wid his dilicate tinder allusions to you,
So now yez must tell me jisht what I must do;