While The Billy BoilsSearchTimes I thinks I’m not the man—Must be some mistake—Me among the also ran!Shrewd and wide-awake,Old an’ beat an’ crotchety—Sixty-five at least—Knockin’ round the presbyt’ryA-groomin’ for the Priest,Choppin’ wood an’ ringin’ bells,Smokin’ ’ard an’ takin’ spells,Me orright; it’s Ed’ard Wells,Late “Teddo” Wells, deceased;Pushin’ barrers round the yard,Gammon that ’e’s workin’ ’ard,A-groomin’ fer the Priest.
Training’ prads was “Teddo’s” game;Made a tidy bit;Everybody knew the name,“Teddo” Wells was It;Bought that bit o’ proputty,Some fine ’orses leased,Gettin’ on tremenjusly,Married be the Priest;Papers full of “Teddo” Wells,Trainin’ ’orses fer the swells;Since redooced to ringin’ bells,An’ ’arf o’ ’im deceased;Shinin’ boots an’ learnin’ sense,Nailin’ palin’s on the fence,A-groomin’ fer the Priest.
Lost that bit o’ proputty,Ended up in smoke;Too much Jimmie ’Ennessey;Shutters up, an’ broke.Used to think ’e knew the gameTill they ’ad ’im fleeced:“Mud” is this ’ere ’ero’s name,Late “Teddo” Wells, deceased.Unbeknowns to sports an’ swells,Got no time fer Ed’ard Wells,Up the spout an’ ringin’ bells,A-groomin’ fer the Priest;Never noticed up the town,Never asked to keep one down;Late “Teddo” Wells, deceased.”
Times I meets a sport I knows,One as gamed an’ spieled,Chips me in me borried clothes,“Six ter four the field.”“What-oh! ‘Teddo’ Wells,” sez ’e,“What them ’orses leased,Owned that bit o’ proputty,A-groomin’ fer the Priest?”“Guessin’ eggs an’ seen the shells—Brains,” sez I, “an’ breedin’ tells;This ol’ cove is Ed’ard Wells,Late ‘Teddo’ Wells, deceased.Ringin’ bells is Ed’ard’s game,Openin’ doors an’ closin’ same,Called ‘groomin’ fer the Priest.’”
Feed the ’orse an’ milk the cow,Jist a ol’ machine,Don’t get on no road, somehow,With this Josephine:Got a heye that makes you feelWell and truly policed,Follerin’ up upon yer ’eel,A-goin’ ter tell the Priest;“Can’t smoke ’ere, now, Ed’ard Wells,That ol’ pipe erfensive smells,Out an’ smoke outside!” she yells—Late “Teddo” Wells, deceased!’Im, as once was in the boom.Wood-’eap is ’is smokin’-room,A-groomin’ fer the Priest.
Times I sez it’s all a jokeSomeone’s puttin’ up;Me dead-beat an’ stoney-broke!—Me as won a Cup!Owned that bit o’ proputty,Them good ’orses leased—Kickin’ round the presbyt’ry,A-groomin’ fer the Priest,Choppin’ wood an’ ringin’ bells,Dodgin’ work’s where ’e excels;Me orright—one Ed’ard Wells,Late “Teddo” since deceased;Thinkin’ big an’ talkin’ freeOf the man ’e used ter be,An’ groomin’ fer the Priest.
—JOHN O’BRIEN.