The Songs Of A Sentimental Bloke Part 3

Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip.

Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip; An' if you run agin a Capulet, Jist do a get."

'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean.

(Same as I done when I first met Doreen.)

They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue!

It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two!

'E'd break away an' start to say good-bye, An' then she'd sigh "Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt, An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt.

Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about A secret wedding; 'an they plan it out.

'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched: Then they git 'itched.

Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip!

She's 'is ofr keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip!

Ar! but'e makes me sick! A fair gazob!

'E's jist the gla.r.s.ey on the soulful sob, 'E'll sigh and spruik, an' 'owl a love-sick vow-- (The silly cow!) But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight 'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate.

Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon, 'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio, They 'ave to go An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets.

They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets.

A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt) Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt.

Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go-- 'Arf round or so.

Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck, "Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' pa.s.ses in 'is check.

Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell.

"It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell, Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword, 'Ow I ongcored!

"Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the boot!"

"'Ush!" sez Doreen..."Shame!" sez some silly coot.

Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do.

The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do, An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk An' does a bunk.

They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy.

"Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!"

Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead.

Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll THINK yer dead."

(I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo A thing or two.) She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room: They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb.

Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl.

'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl Tucked in 'er little coffing, cold an' stiff, An' in a jiff, 'E swallows lysol, throws a fancy fit, 'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit.

Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there, Turns on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air, "Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!"

An' wiv a moan, She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares...

_"Peanuts or lollies!_" sez a boy upstairs.

VI. The Stror 'at Coot

Ar, wimmin! Wot a blinded fool I've been!

I arsts meself, wot else could I ixpeck?

I done me block complete on this Doreen, An' now me 'eart is broke, me life's a wreck!

The dreams I dreamed, the dilly thorts I thunk Is up the pole, an' joy 'as done a bunk.

Wimmin! O strike! I orter known the game!

Their tricks is crook, their arts is all dead snide.

The 'ole world over tarts is all the same; All soft an' smilin' wiv no 'eart inside.

But she fair doped me wiv 'er winnin' ways, Then crooled me pitch fer all me mortal days.

They're all the same! A man 'as got to be Stric' master if 'e wants to snare 'em sure.

'E 'as to take a stand an' let 'em see That triflin' is a thing'e won't indure.

'E wants to show 'em that 'e 'olds command, So they will smooge an' feed out of 'is 'and.

'E needs to make 'em feel 'e is the boss, An' kid 'e's careless uv the joys they give.

'E 'as to make 'em think 'e'll feel no loss To part wiv any tart 'e's trackin' wiv.

That all their pretty ways is crook pretence Is plain to any bloke wiv common-sense.

But when the birds is nestin' in the spring, An' when the soft green leaves is in the bud, 'E drops 'is bundle to some fluffy thing.

'E pays 'er 'omage--an' 'is name is Mud.

She plays wiv'im an' kids 'im on a treat, Until she 'as 'im crawlin' at 'er feet.

An' then, when 'e's fair orf 'is top wiv love, When she 'as got 'im good an' 'ad 'er fun, She slings 'im over like a carst-orf glove, To let the other tarts see wot she's done.

All vanity, deceit an' 'eartless kid!

I orter known; an', spare me days, I did!

I knoo. But when I looked into 'er eyes-- Them shinin' eyes o' blue all soft wiv love Wiv MIMIC love--they seemed to 'ipnertize.

I wus content to place 'er 'igh above.

I wus content to make of 'er a queen; An' so she seemed them days...O, 'struth!...Doreen!

I knoo. But when I stroked 'er glossy 'air Wiv rev'rint 'ands, 'er cheek pressed close to mine, Me lonely life seemed robbed of all its care; I dreams me dreams, an' 'ope begun to shine.

An' when she 'eld 'er lips fer me to kiss...

Ar, wot's the use? I'm done wiv all o' this!

Wimmin!...Oh, I ain't jealous! Spare me days!

Me? Jealous uv a knock-kneed coot like that!

'Im! Wiv 'is cute stror 'at an' pretty ways!

I'd be a mug to squeal or whip the cat.

I'm glad, I am--glad 'cos I know I'm free!

There ain't no call to tork o' jealousy.

I tells meself I'm well out o' the game; Fer look, I mighter married 'er-an' then....

Ar strike! 'Er voice wus music when my name Wus on 'er lips on them glad ev'nin's when We useter meet. An' then to think she'd go...

No, I ain't jealous--but--Ar, I dunno!

I took a derry on this stror 'at coot First time I seen 'im dodgin' round Doreen.

'Im, wiv 'is giddy tie an' Yankee soot, Ferever yappin' like a tork-machine About "The Hoffis" where 'e 'ad a grip....

The way 'e smiled at 'er give me the pip!