* LEGACIES *

The dog is yours; and so's the photo frames,

Them pictures wot I cut, an’ my new box.

The pack of cards, the dominoes, an’ games,

The knittin’ needles, an’ the knitted socks,

An’ all, except the letters and the ring —

You'll find them all together tied with string.

My public clothin’ — that goes back to stores —

My kit'll sell by auction on the square;

An’ other fellers will be‘ formin’ fours’

An’‘ markin’ time’ in boots I used to wear.

They're welcome; but you wo n't forget to send

The ring an’ all the letters to my —— friend?

The pain ai n't near so bad as wot it were

The day they dragged me from the limber wheels;

Ai n't I a wreck! for God's sake do n't tell‘ er;

Say it was fever — peaceful — in the‘ ills;

An’ write about the wreaths, the‘ Jack,’ and band,

An’ — send a bit of hair: you understand?

The ring —— Oh no, the doctor lets me talk,

I ai n't a-tirin’ —‘ cept a funny light,

An’ just a feelin’ that I'd like to walk

To where it seems to flicker in the night.

Better for me to go with aching‘ ead,

Than go in trouble with my say unsaid.

The ring — it ai n't long since she sent it back;

I never meant no‘ arm, God only knows,

But things — I can n't tell now — looked very black,

And she believed the others — I suppose,

I'm sorry for‘ er now — that cursed wheel!—

You see she is a woman, an’ she'll feel.

The dog is yours, I told you that before.

The spurs you'll find‘ em in my private kit.

The letters, an’ the ring, an’ nothin’ more,—

An’ hair — it's foolish — but a little bit.

‘ Our Father’ — Lord, how strange! It's all — ri’ — sir.

The — lett — an — th’ — ring — an’ — hair — for —‘ er!