The Songs Of A Sentimental Bloke Part 6

"'Er pore dead Par," she sez, an' gulps a sob.

An' then I tells 'er 'ow I got a job, As storeman down at Jones' printin' joint, A decent sorter cop at fifty bob.

Then things get 'ome-like; an' we torks till late, An' tries to tease Doreen to fix the date, An' she gits suddin soft and tender-like, An' cries a bit, when we parts at the gate.

An' as I'm moochin' 'omeward frum the car A suddin notion stops me wiv a jar-- Wot if Doreen, I thinks, should grow to be, A fat ole weepin' willer like 'er Mar!

O, 'struth! It won't bear thinkin' of! It's crook!

An' I'm a mean, unfeelin' dawg to look At things like that. Doreen's Doreen to me, The sweetest peach on w'ich a man wus shook.

'Er "pore dear Par"...I s'pose 'e 'ad 'is day, An' kissed an' smooged an' loved 'er in 'is way.

An' wed an' took 'is chances like a man-- But, Gawd, this splicin' racket ain't all play.

Love is a gamble, an' there ain't no certs.

Some day, I s'pose, I'll git wise to the skirts, An' learn to take the bitter wiv the sweet...

But, strike me purple! "w.i.l.l.y!" THAT'S wot 'urts.

IX. Pilot Cove

Young friend," 'e sez...Young friend!

Well, spare me days!

Yeh'd think I wus 'is own white-'eaded boy-- The queer ole finger, wiv 'is gentle ways.

"Young friend," 'e sez, "I wish't yeh bofe great joy."

The langwidge that them parson blokes imploy Fair tickles me. The way'e bleats an' brays!

"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez...Yes, my Doreen an' me We're gettin' hitched, all straight an' on the square.

Fer when I torks about the registry-- O 'oly wars! yeh should 'a' seen 'er stare; "The registry?" she sez, "I wouldn't dare!

I know a clergyman we'll go an' see"...

"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e chats me straight; An' spouts of death, an' 'ell, an' mortal sins.

"You reckernize this step you contemplate Is grave? 'e sez. An' I jist stan's an' grins; Fer when I chips, Doreen she kicks me shins.

"Yes, very 'oly is the married state, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e mags a lot Of jooty an' the spiritchuil life, To which I didn't tumble worth a jot.

"I'm sure," 'e sez, "as you will 'ave a wife 'Oo'll 'ave a n.o.ble infl'ince on yer life.

'Oo is 'er gardjin?" I sez, "'Er ole pot"-- "Young friend!" 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. "Oh fix yer thorts on 'igh!

Orl marridges is registered up there!

An' you must cleave unto 'er till yeh die, An' cherish 'er wiv love an' tender care.

E'n in the days when she's no longer fair She's still yer wife," 'e sez. "Ribuck," sez I.

"YOUNG FRIEND!" 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez--I sez, "Now, listen 'ere: This isn't one o' them impetchus leaps.

There ain't no tart a 'undreth part so dear As 'er. She 'as me 'eart an' soul fer keeps!"

An' then Doreen, she turns away an' weeps; But 'e jist smiles. "Yer deep in love, 'tis clear, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez--an' tears wus in 'is eyes-- "Strive 'ard. Fer many, many years I've lived.

An' I kin but recall wiv tears an' sighs The lives of some I've seen in marridge gived."

"My Gawd!" I sez. "I'll strive as no bloke strivved!

Fer don't I know I've copped a bonzer prize?"

"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' in 'is gentle way, 'E pats the shoulder of my dear Doreen.

"I've solem'ized grand weddin's in me day, But 'ere's the sweetest little maid I've seen.

She's fit fer any man, to be 'is queen; An' you're more forchinit than you kin say, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez...A queer ole pilot bloke, Wiv silver 'air. The gentle way 'e dealt Wiv 'er, the soft an' kindly way 'e spoke To my Doreen, 'ud make a statcher melt.

I tell yer, square an' all, I sorter felt A kiddish kind o' feelin' like I'd choke...

"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez, "you two on Choosday week, Is to be joined in very 'oly bonds.

To break them vows I 'opes yeh'll never seek; Fer I could curse them 'usbands 'oo absconds!"

"I'll love 'er till I snuff it," I responds.

"Ah, that's the way I likes to 'ear yeh speak, Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez--an' then me 'and 'e grips "I wish't yeh luck, you an' yer lady fair.

Sweet maid." An' sof'ly wiv 'is finger-tips, 'E takes an' strokes me cliner's shinin' 'air.

An' when I seen 'er standin' blushin' there, I turns an' kisses 'er, fair on the lips.

"Young friend!" 'e sez.

X. Hitched

"An'--wilt--yeh--take--this--woman--fer--to--be-- Yer--weddid--wife?"...O, strike me! Will I wot?

TAKE 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there ARSTIN' me!

As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!

TAKE 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still, I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot, An' speaks me piece: "Righto!" I sez, "I will."

"I will," I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout Come from me bustin' 'eart--I know it did-- Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out, An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.

"I will," I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss, An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid To see this solim hitchin' up of us.

"Fer--rich-er--er--fer--por-er." So 'e bleats.

"In--sick-ness--an'--in-ealth,"...An' there I stands, An' dunno'arf the chatter I repeats, Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands.

But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands-- This white-'aired pilot-bloke--but gives it lip, Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands.

"In sick-ness--an'--in--" Ar! I got the pip!

An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick, 'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out.

"I will!" 'e 'owls; an' fetches me a kick.

"Your turn to chin!" 'e tips wiv a shout.

An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout.

(Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be ALL 'ands!) An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about, Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands.