Explore "The Scampsman's Night" by Sheila Kaye-Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Mists on the marsh are gathering thick, / The shuddering woods are dim, / My barker's muzzle looks grim, / Of boozing and delling and such I'm sick.
Saddle my mare -- my Marjorie -- / For Oliver's glim is bright, / And this is a snaffling night -- / Ho, my girl, for the nuttiest spree!
We'll make his Lordship tip us the bit, / We'll knuckle his mort's fawnie, / And a kiss, for we're gay dogs, we, / And love to fool with a comely chit.
At morning's dawn we will ride to our ken, / And tipple, and count our swag, / And of our flash spices brag, / And rest the bodies of mares and men.