The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke

by C. J. Dennis

'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! "Willy!" 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 noble 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.