Page:Backblock Ballads and Later Verses (C.J. Dennis, 1918).djvu/102

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"Them tortured clouds agen the moon," The foolish cop pursued, "Remind me of some Whistler thing;    But I prefer the nood." Said I, "Arrest this man of vice!" Said he, "The nood is very nice."

"My pants," cried I, "unguarded lie    Beside my peaceful couch— My second-best pair, with the stripes,     Red gold within their pouch! Thieves! Murder! Burglars! !" cried I. Sighed he, "Oh, spires against the sky!" Then, in my pink pyjamas clad, I danced before his eyes. In anger impotent I sought His ear with savage cries. He pushed me from him with a moan. "Go 'way!" he said. "You're out of tone."

"Why do I pay my rates?" I yelled— "The wages that you draw! Come, I demand, good cop, demand   Protection from the law!" "You're out of drorin', too," said he. "Still, s'pose I'd better go an' see."