Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/131

 For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man to save, Hadn't a head to manage, and drank himself into his grave. Pretty enough, very pretty! but I was against it for one. Eh!—but he wouldn't hear me—and Willy, you say, is gone.

Willy, my beauty, my eldest-born, the flower of the flock; Never a man could fling him: for Willy stood like a rock. 'Here's a leg for a babe of a week!' says doctor; and he would be bound, There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round.