Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/131

ii.

For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man to save,

Hadn't a head to manage, and drank himself into his grave.
Pretty enough, very pretty! but I was against it for one.
Eh!—but he wouldn't hear me—and Willy, you say, is gone.

iii.

Willy, my beauty, my eldest-born, the flower of the flock;

Never a man could fling him: for Willy stood like a rock.
'Here's a leg for a babe of a week!' says doctor; and he would be bound,
There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round.