I've thumbed it out in the Bible, and I know it now by heart,
And it's put the steam in my boiler, and made me ready to start.
I ain't not afraid to die now; I've been a bit bad in my day,
But I know when I knock at them portals there's one as won't say me nay.
And it's thinkin' about that story, and all as he did for us,
As make me so fond o' my dawg, sir; especially now I'm wus;
For a-savin' o' folks who'd kill us is a beautiful act, the which
I never heard tell on o' no one, 'cept o' him and o' that there bitch.
'Twas five years ago come Chrismus, maybe you remember the row,
There was scares about hydryphoby—same as there be just now;
And the bobbies came down on us costers—came in a reggerlar wax,
And them as 'ud got no license was summerned to pay the tax.
But I had a friend among 'em, and he come in a friendly way,
And he sez, 'You must settle your dawg, Bill, unless you've a mind to pay.'
The missus was dyin' wi' fever—I'd made a mistake in my pitch,
I couldn't afford to keep her, so I sez, 'I'll drownd the bitch.'
I wasn't a-goin' to lose her, I warn't such a brute, you bet,
As to leave her to die by inches o' hunger, and cold, and wet;
I never said now't to the missus—we both on us liked her well—
But I takes her the follerin' Sunday down to the Grand Canell.
I gets her tight by the collar—the Lord forgive my sin!
And, kneelin' down on the towpath, I ducks the poor beast in.
She gave just a sudden whine like, then a look comes into her eyes
As 'ull last forever in mine, sir, up to the day I dies.
And a chill came over my heart then, and thinkin' I heard her moan,
I held her below the water, beating her skull with a stone.
You can see the mark of it now, sir—that place on the top of 'er 'ed—
And sudden she ceased to struggle, and I fancied as she was dead.
I shall never know how it happened, but goin' to lose my hold,
My knees slipped over the towpath, and into the stream I rolled;
Down like a log I went, sir, and my eyes were filled with mud,
And the water was tinged above me with a murdered creeter's blood.
I gave myself up for lost then, and I cursed in my wild despair,
And sudden I rose to the surfis, and a su'thing grabbed at my hair,
Grabbed at my hair and loosed it, and grabbed me agin by the throat,
And she was a-holdin' my 'ed up, and somehow I kep' afloat.
I can't tell yer 'ow she done it, for I never knowed no more
Till somebody seized my collar, and give me a lug ashore;
And my head was queer and dizzy, but I see as the bitch was weak,
And she lay on her side a-pantin', waitin' for me to speak.
What did I do with her, eh? You'd a-hardly need to ax,
But I sold my barrer a Monday, and paid the bloomin' tax.
That's right, Mr. Preacher, pat her—you ain't not afeared of her now!—
Dang this here tellin' of stories—look at the muck on my brow.
I'm weaker, an' weaker, an' weaker; I fancy the end ain't fur,
But you know why here on my deathbed I think o' the Lord and her,
And he who, by men's hands tortured, uttered that prayer divine,
'Ull pardon me linkin' him like with a dawg as forgave like mine.
When the Lord in his mercy calls me to my last eternal pitch,
I know as you'll treat her kindly—promise to take my bitch!
George R. Sims.