Part 3 (2/2)

Sure awnly a saftie would ever be carin'

To pay for the fish when they'd had such a airin'!

An' any regreater deserve to be stranded For carryin' fish to the port where they'm landed!

So Sammy went homeways from Looe to Downderry, An' on to Torpoint an' acrost by the ferry, An' up along Plymouth, remarkable flish, He selled out to wance all his basket of fish.

'Tis sartin that 'tis, an' can't be no 'tisser, Us knaws fish an' fish from the Rame to the Lizzer; What's hansun for Devon for us doesn' do, So don't 'ee be carryin' fish into Looe.

ON THE KAY (QUAY).

As I was bendin' a hook one day A furriner* strawled along the kay.

His cheeks was white as gannet's wing, An' he looked a whisht an' wakely thing.

His clo'es was nate an' spickety span, But I sez to meself ”Now there's a man!”

An' I sez to meself ”Now look at his legs, They'm like a couple o' crabpot pegs.”

An' I sez to meself ”A bit of a squall Would blow his bones to the end of all.”

An' I sez--but I didn' had time to say For a scraitch went up from the end o' the kay,

Where a cheeld was aswingin' jest afore, An' now there wasn' no cheeld no more,

Then a'most afore I could see him go, That furriner sprang in the say below.

He couldn' swim much, but he keeped afloat Jest while I tumbled into the boat,

An' I hooked him up an' lugged him aboard, An' he had that cheeld clipped tight as cord.

He trembled an' shook, he was wake an' white, But he awnly sez ”Is the kid alright?”

Sure 'nuff, an' he simmed to understand When I gived him a hearty shake o' the hand.

I started abendin' the hook agen, An' I sez ”There's different looks to men,

Braave hearts in whisht poor bodies bide, An' looks don't count to what's inside.”

[Footnote *: To Cornishmen, non-Cornish are ”furriners.”]

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