THE GLOSSARY
I. A Spring Song
The world 'as got me snouted jist a treat;
Crool Forchin's dirty left 'as smote me soul;
An' all them joys o' life I 'eld so sweet
Is up the pole.
Fer, as the poit sez, me 'eart 'as got
The pip wiv yearnin' fer—I dunno wot.
I'm crook; me name is Mud; I've done me dash;
Me flamin' spirit's got the flamin' 'ump!
I'm longin' to let loose on somethin' rash….
Aw, I'm a chump!
I know it; but this blimed ole Springtime craze
Fair outs me, on these dilly, silly days.
The young green leaves is shootin' on the trees,
The air is like a long, cool swig o' beer,
The bonzer smell o' flow'rs is on the breeze,
An' 'ere's me, 'ere,
Jist moochin' round like some pore, barmy coot,
Of 'ope, an' joy, an' forchin destichoot.
I've lorst me former joy in gettin' shick,
Or 'eadin' browns; I 'aven't got the 'eart
To word a tom; an', square an' all,
I'm sick of that cheap tart
'Oo chucks 'er carkis at a feller's 'ead
An' mauls 'im…Ar! I wish't that I wus dead!…
Ther's little breezes stirrin' in the leaves,
An' sparrers chirpin' 'igh the 'ole day long;
An' on the air a sad, sweet music breaves
A bonzer song—
A mournful sorter choon thet gits a bloke
Fair in the brisket 'ere, an' makes 'im choke …
What is the matter wiv me?…I dunno.
I got a sorter yearnin' 'ere inside,
A dead-crook sorter thing that won't let go
Or be denied—
A feelin' like I want to do a break,
An' stoush creation for some woman's sake.
The little birds is chirpin' in the nest,
The parks an' gardings is a bosker sight,
Where smilin' tarts walks up an' down, all dressed
In clobber white.
An', as their snowy forms goes steppin' by,
It seems I'm seekin' somethin' on the sly.
Somethin' or someone—I don't rightly know;
But, seems to me, I'm kind er lookin' for
A tart I knoo a 'undred years ago,
Or, maybe, more.
Wot's this I've 'eard them call that thing?…Geewhizz!
Me ideel bit o' skirt! That's wot it is!