THE DYING STREET ARAB.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2116, 30 January 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE DYING STREET ARAB.

I know what you means, I'm a-dyin'— Well, I ain't no worse nor the rest. Taint them as does notbin' but prayin'— I reckons, as is the best. I ain't had no father nor mother A-tollin' au> wrong from the right ; The streets ain't the place— is it parson !— For sayin' your prayers of a night. I never knowed who was my father, And mother she died long ago ; The folks here they brought me up somehows— It ain't much they've teached me, I know. Yet I thinks they'll be sorry and miss me, When took right away from this here ; For sometimes I catches them slyly A-wipin' away a tear. And they says as they hopes I'll get better, I can't be no worse when I'm dead ; I ain't had so jolly a time on't— A-dyin' by inches for bread. I've stood in them streets precious often, When the wet's been a-pourin' down, And I ain't had so much as a mouthful, Nor never as much as a "brown." I've looked in them shops wit!) the winders Chokeful of what's tidy to eat, And I've heerd gent's a-larfin' and talkin' While I drops like a dorg at their feet. But it's kind on you, sir, to sit by me ; I ain't now afeered o' your face ; And I hopes, if its true as you tell me, Well meet in that t'other place. I hopes as you'll come when it's over, And talk to them here in the court ; They'll mind what you say, you're a parson; There won't be no larkin nor sport. You'll tell them as how I died happy, And hopin' to see them again ; That I'm gone to that land where the weary Is freed of his trouble and pain. Now open that book as you give me— I feels as it never tells lies — And read me them words— you know, guv'nor — As is good for a chap when he dies. There, give me your hand, sir, and thankee For the good as you'vo done a poor lad, Who knows, had they teached me some better, I mightn't have growed up so bad.

— Taunton Courier.