Says I, ‘Why not yer ‘eart instead,
Yer quaint old moke?’
“For yer cawn’t be ‘appy when yer ‘alf in love—!
Yer must taik one road or the other;
Yer can maike o’ life an up’ill shove,
Or marry a bloke wot ain’t yer brother.”
“Chorus, Peter. Pick it up.”
The Faun Man nodded the time, swaying from the hips and rolling his head.
“For yer cawn’t be ‘appy when yer ‘alf in love.”
He laid his mandolin aside. “Catchy, isn’t it? There mayn’t be much soap about the dialect, but there’s plenty of philosophy in the sense. More than one person in this party is half in love. Take example from me, Peter; don’t make a fool of yourself.”