Search -
Lays of Past Days, by the Author of 'provence and the Rhone'.
Lays of Past Days by the Author of 'provence and the Rhone' Author:John Hughes General Books publication date: 2009 Original publication date: 1850 Notes: This is a black and white OCR reprint of the original. It has no illustrations and there may be typos or missing text. When you buy the General Books edition of this book you get free trial access to Million-Books.com where you can select from more than a million book... more »s for free. Excerpt: THE LAY OF THE OLD COW. AN HUMBLE ATTEMPT AT THE jESTHETICO-SUGGESTlVE. Of what is the old cow thinking, As she flaps with her tail the flies, Gazing, an'd lazily winking, As they buzz around her eyes? " Non meus hie sermo est." I am not answerable fur the authorship ; the courteous reader will, perhaps, accept the following explanatory dialogue as authentic. Farmer Claypok. " Well, I can't no-how make out this scrawl about asthmatics and what-is-it-gestives -- digestives, I suppose. Did the young chap as you think dropt the paper look like a cow-doctor, Bill ? " Bill (the hind). Lor' bless 'ee, measter! a was drest as nice as ninepence; only openish in the shirt-collar, like; and rowled his eyes desperate strange; and a'd got anewst as long hair as our Miss Jemimy. Farmer Claypole. Ah ! 'tis he as I heerd of, as spent two The old man, grey and sad, Who passeth her even now, He tended her as a lad, When she was a thriving cow. days strolling about, paid his bill very handsome at the Crown, and talked a deal to himself. But 'tis curous how he should fancy old Blossom came out of Noah's Ark, like. BUI. Well, that is an unaccountable old cow, and a good "un too that is. I've a milk'd she for fourteen years; and her thrives mainly sin' her had the run of Clover Lane to herself. Her never warped a calf yet. Farmer Claypole. Ay, my grandfather brought the breed into these parts first. Bill. There's old Joel Wimble, as was cow-boy once at the farm, used to say her was the very moral of that 'ere Mayflower, as made no end of butter in her time. Farmer Claypole. Wanders in his head, don...« less