Part 36 (1/2)

Conjecture anty as the wine!

And zoon did he het's faleshood vine.

_John c.o.x_ took up his father's cloaths-- Poor fellow! he beginn'd to cry!

Than, Evans vrom the water rose; ”A hunderd vawk'll come bimeby,”

A zed; whun, short way vrom the sh.o.r.e.

We zeed, what zeed we not avore, The _head_ of Doctor c.o.x appear-- Het floated in the water clear!

Bolt upright war he, and his hair, That pruv'd he sartainly war there, Zwimm'd on the water!--Evans than, The stupid'st of a stupid man, Call'd _Vigo_--pointed to that head-- In _Vigo_ dash'd--_c.o.x was not dead_!

But seiz'd the dog's lag--helt en vast!

One struggle, an het war the last!

Ah! well do I remember it-- That struggle I sholl ne'er forgit!

Vigo was frightened and withdrew; The body zink'd at once vrom view.

Did _Evans_, gallid _Evans_ then, Call out, at once, vor father's men?

(Tha war at work vor'n very near A mendin the old Highbridge pier,) A did'n call, but 'mus'd our fear-- ”A hundred vawk ool zoon be here!”

A zed.--We gid the hue and cry!

And zoon a booat wi' men did vly!

But twar all auver! _c.o.x_ war voun Not at the bottom lyin down, But up aneen, as jist avore We zeed en floatin nigh the sh.o.r.e.

But death 'ad done his wust--not all Tha did could life's last spork recall.

Zo Doctor c.o.x went out o' life A vine, a, and as honsom mon, As zun hath iver s.h.i.+n'd upon; A left a family--a _wife_, Two _sons_--one_dater_, As beautiful as lovely Ma, Of whom a-ma-bi I mid za Zumthin hereater: What tha veel'd now I sholl not tell-- My hort athin me 'gins to zwell!

Reflection here mid try in vain, Wither particulars to gain, _Evans_ zim'd all like one possest; Imagination! tell the rest!

L'ENVOY.

To all that sholl theeaze storry read, The _Truth_ must vor it chiefly plead; I gee not here a tale o' ort, Nor snip-snap wit, nor lidden smort.

But oten, oten by thie river, Have I a pa.s.s'd; yet niver, niver, Athout a thought o' _Doctor c.o.x_-- His dog--his death--his floatin locks!

The mooast whun Brue war deep and clear, And Lammas da an harras near;-- Whun zummer vleng'd his light abroad,-- The zun in all his glory rawd; How beautiful mid be the da A zumthin alles zim'd to za, _”Whar whing! the water's deep an' clear, But death mid be a lurkin near!”_

A DEDICATION.

Thenk not, bin I ood be tha fas.h.i.+on, That I, ZIR, write theaze Dedication; I write, I haup I dwon't offend.

Bin I be proud ta call You FRIEND.

I here ston vooath, alooan unbidden To 'muse you wi' my country lidden;-- Wi' remlet's o' tha Saxon tongue That to our Gramfers did belong.

Vor all it is a little thing, Receave it--Friends.h.i.+p's offering-- Ta pruv, if pruf I need renew, That I esteem not lightly YOU.