Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/229

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O' the Dardanelles? Ma brotherr the Isle o' Wight Rifles 'e joined,

An' there's lots of 'em killed a'ready, that last big landing, you moind,

Wi' the 'Stralians an' Noo Zealan's; but ma brotherr 'e's not killed yet."—

(Mopsus, lightest of heart, unfeelingest!)"—Maister, ut's wet,

That bit o' long grass whur ye're sittun', an' yesterday, would ye believe,

A' sat wi' ma coat aside me, an' a' hearrd just under ma sleeve

A kind o' a noise o' whustlun, an' a' reached out after ut so,

An' 'twas thurr in ma pocket—a' drew out quick—'twas an adderr, ye know."

(I rose rather hastily.) "Mopsus, there's always an adder," I thought,

"In all the pleasantest hedges, so the tedious wise have taught,"

But I said, "Good-bye, Joe Marvin," and stooped to pick up my hat.

"But say, do you never feel lonely and just inclined for a chat?"

"Aw noa," he grinned, "a'm talkun wi' myself most parrt o' the day."

"What, the same old pounds and shillings?"—"Well, ye know, sirr, it's just this way:

Ma father 'e give me ma wages, six shillun'—enough, says he,

Fur a boy just done wi' schoolun'—an' thur's lots to buy, ye see:

Thur's cigarrettes for ma brotherr—anythink but Turrkish 'e like—

An' a bugle—the one a'm learrnun' ain't mine—an' a tyre fur ma bike—

As a' rode up the lane the firrst time, three punctures a' had an' a burrst,

So ye'd best walk down—but a'll show ye the way to the hilltop firrst."