THE GROOM'S ENCORE(Being a Sequel to "The Groom's Story" in "Songs of Action")Not tired of 'earin' stories! You're a nailer,so you are!I thought I should 'ave choked you off withthat 'ere motor-car.Well, mister, 'ere's another; and, mind you,it's a fact,Though you'll think perhaps I copped itout o' some blue ribbon tract.It was in the days when farmer men werejolly-faced and stout,For all the cash was comin' in and littlegoin' out,But now, you see, the farmer men are'ungry-faced and thin,For all the cash is goin' out and littlecomin' in.But in the days I'm speakin' of, beforethe drop in wheat,The life them farmers led was such ascouldn't well be beat;They went the pace amazin', they 'untedand they shot,And this 'ere Jeremiah Brown the liveliestof the lot.'E was a fine young fellar; the best roun''ere by far,But just a bit full-blooded, as fine youngfellars are;Which I know they didn't ought to, an' it'svery wrong of course,But the colt wot never capers makes amighty useless 'orse.The lad was never vicious, but 'e made themoney go,For 'e was ready with 'is "yes," and back-ward with 'is "no."And so 'e turned to drink which is theavenoo to 'ell,An' 'ow 'e came to stop 'imself is wot' I'ave to tell.Four days on end 'e never knew 'ow 'e 'adgot to bed,Until one mornin' fifty clocks was tickin'in 'is 'ead,And on the same the doctor came, "You'revery near D.T.,If you don't stop yourself, young chap,you'll pay the price," said 'e."It takes the form of visions, as I fearyou'll quickly know;Perhaps a string o' monkeys, all a-sittin' ina row,Perhaps it's frogs or beetles, perhaps it'srats or mice,There are many sorts of visions andthere's none of 'em is nice."But Brown 'e started laughin': "Nodoctor's muck," says 'e,"A take-'em-break-'em gallop is the onlycure for me!They 'unt to-day down 'Orsham way.Bring round the sorrel mare,If them monkeys come inquirin' you cansend 'em on down there."Well, Jeremiah rode to 'ounds, exactly as'e said.But all the time the doctor's words wereringin' in 'is 'ead —"If you don't stop yourself, young chap,you've got to pay the price,There are many sorts of visions, but noneof 'em is nice."They found that day at Leonards Lee andran to Shipley Wood,'Ell-for-leather all the way, with scentand weather good.Never a check to 'Orton Beck and onacross the Weald,And all the way the Sussex clay was weed-in' out the field.There's not a man among them couldremember such a run,Straight as a rule to Bramber Pool and onby Annington,They followed still past Breeding 'illand on by Steyning Town,Until they'd cleared the 'edges and wereout upon the Down.Full thirty mile from Plimmers Style,without a check or fault,Full thirty mile the 'ounds 'ad run andnever called a 'alt.One by one the Field was done until atFinden Down,There was no one with the 'untsman saveyoung Jeremiah Brown.And then the 'untsman 'ewas beat. 'Is'orse 'ad tripped and fell."By George," said Brown, "I'll go alone,and follow it to — well,The place that it belongs to." And as 'emade the vow,There broke from right in front of 'imthe queerest kind of row.There lay a copse of 'azels on the borderof the track,And into this two 'ounds 'ad run — themtwo was all the pack —And now from these 'ere 'azels there camea fearsome 'owl,With a yappin' and a snappin' and awicked snarlin' growl.Jeremiah's blood ran cold — a frightenedman was 'e,But he butted through the bushes justto see what 'e could see,And there beneath their shadow, blooddrippin' from his jaws,Was an awful creature standin' with a'ound beneath its paws.A fox? Five foxes rolled in one — apony's weight and size,A rampin', ragin' devil, all fangs and'air and eyes;Too scared to speak, with shriek on shriek,Brown galloped from the sightWith just one thought within 'is mind —"The doctor told me right."That evenin' late the minister was seatedin his study,When in there rushed a 'untin' man, alltravel-stained and muddy,"Give me the Testament!" he cried, "And'ear my sacred vow,That not one drop of drink shall ever passmy lips from now."'E swore it and 'e kept it and 'e keeps it tothis day,'E 'as turned from gin to ginger and says 'efinds it pay,You can search the whole o' Sussex from'ere to Brighton Town,And you wouldn't find a better man thanJeremiah Brown.And the vision — it was just a wolf, a bigSiberian,A great, fierce, 'ungry devil from a show-man's caravan,But it saved 'im from perdition — and Idon't mind if I do,I 'aven't seen no wolf myself — so 'ere'smy best to you!
Not tired of 'earin' stories! You're a nailer,so you are!I thought I should 'ave choked you off withthat 'ere motor-car.Well, mister, 'ere's another; and, mind you,it's a fact,Though you'll think perhaps I copped itout o' some blue ribbon tract.It was in the days when farmer men werejolly-faced and stout,For all the cash was comin' in and littlegoin' out,But now, you see, the farmer men are'ungry-faced and thin,For all the cash is goin' out and littlecomin' in.But in the days I'm speakin' of, beforethe drop in wheat,The life them farmers led was such ascouldn't well be beat;They went the pace amazin', they 'untedand they shot,And this 'ere Jeremiah Brown the liveliestof the lot.'E was a fine young fellar; the best roun''ere by far,But just a bit full-blooded, as fine youngfellars are;Which I know they didn't ought to, an' it'svery wrong of course,But the colt wot never capers makes amighty useless 'orse.The lad was never vicious, but 'e made themoney go,For 'e was ready with 'is "yes," and back-ward with 'is "no."And so 'e turned to drink which is theavenoo to 'ell,An' 'ow 'e came to stop 'imself is wot' I'ave to tell.Four days on end 'e never knew 'ow 'e 'adgot to bed,Until one mornin' fifty clocks was tickin'in 'is 'ead,And on the same the doctor came, "You'revery near D.T.,If you don't stop yourself, young chap,you'll pay the price," said 'e."It takes the form of visions, as I fearyou'll quickly know;Perhaps a string o' monkeys, all a-sittin' ina row,Perhaps it's frogs or beetles, perhaps it'srats or mice,There are many sorts of visions andthere's none of 'em is nice."But Brown 'e started laughin': "Nodoctor's muck," says 'e,"A take-'em-break-'em gallop is the onlycure for me!They 'unt to-day down 'Orsham way.Bring round the sorrel mare,If them monkeys come inquirin' you cansend 'em on down there."Well, Jeremiah rode to 'ounds, exactly as'e said.But all the time the doctor's words wereringin' in 'is 'ead —"If you don't stop yourself, young chap,you've got to pay the price,There are many sorts of visions, but noneof 'em is nice."They found that day at Leonards Lee andran to Shipley Wood,'Ell-for-leather all the way, with scentand weather good.Never a check to 'Orton Beck and onacross the Weald,And all the way the Sussex clay was weed-in' out the field.There's not a man among them couldremember such a run,Straight as a rule to Bramber Pool and onby Annington,They followed still past Breeding 'illand on by Steyning Town,Until they'd cleared the 'edges and wereout upon the Down.Full thirty mile from Plimmers Style,without a check or fault,Full thirty mile the 'ounds 'ad run andnever called a 'alt.One by one the Field was done until atFinden Down,There was no one with the 'untsman saveyoung Jeremiah Brown.And then the 'untsman 'ewas beat. 'Is'orse 'ad tripped and fell."By George," said Brown, "I'll go alone,and follow it to — well,The place that it belongs to." And as 'emade the vow,There broke from right in front of 'imthe queerest kind of row.There lay a copse of 'azels on the borderof the track,And into this two 'ounds 'ad run — themtwo was all the pack —And now from these 'ere 'azels there camea fearsome 'owl,With a yappin' and a snappin' and awicked snarlin' growl.Jeremiah's blood ran cold — a frightenedman was 'e,But he butted through the bushes justto see what 'e could see,And there beneath their shadow, blooddrippin' from his jaws,Was an awful creature standin' with a'ound beneath its paws.A fox? Five foxes rolled in one — apony's weight and size,A rampin', ragin' devil, all fangs and'air and eyes;Too scared to speak, with shriek on shriek,Brown galloped from the sightWith just one thought within 'is mind —"The doctor told me right."That evenin' late the minister was seatedin his study,When in there rushed a 'untin' man, alltravel-stained and muddy,"Give me the Testament!" he cried, "And'ear my sacred vow,That not one drop of drink shall ever passmy lips from now."'E swore it and 'e kept it and 'e keeps it tothis day,'E 'as turned from gin to ginger and says 'efinds it pay,You can search the whole o' Sussex from'ere to Brighton Town,And you wouldn't find a better man thanJeremiah Brown.And the vision — it was just a wolf, a bigSiberian,A great, fierce, 'ungry devil from a show-man's caravan,But it saved 'im from perdition — and Idon't mind if I do,I 'aven't seen no wolf myself — so 'ere'smy best to you!