The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke | Page 4

backer, in a huff,

Sneaks outer sight, red in the face wiv rage.
W'ile gloomy roosters,
they 'oo made the morn
Ring wiv 'is praises, creep to bed forlorn.
All faint an' groggy grows the beaten Day;
'E staggers drunkenly
about the ring;
An owl 'oots jeerin'ly across the way,
An' bats come
out to mock the fallin' King.
Now, wiv a jolt, Night spreads 'im on the
floor,
An' all the west grows ruddy wiv 'is gore.

A single, vulgar star leers from the sky
An' in derision, rudely mutters,
"Yah!"
The moon, Night's conkerbine, comes glidin' by
An' laughs
a 'eartless, silvery "Ha-ha!"
Scorned, beaten, Day gives up the
'opeless fight,
An' drops 'is bundle in the lap o' Night.

So goes each day, like some celeschil mill,
E'er since I met that shyin'
little peach.
'Er bonzer voice! I 'ear its music still,
As when she guv
that promise fer the beach.
An', square an' all, no matter 'ow yeh start,

The commin end of most of us is--Tart.
IV. Doreen
"I wish't yeh menat it, Bill." Oh, 'ow me 'eart
Went out to 'er that evnin' on the beach.
I knew she weren't no
ordinary tart,
My little peach!
To 'ear 'er voice! Its gentle sorter tone,
Like soft dream-music of
some Dago band.
An' me all out; an' 'oldin' in me own
'Er little 'and.
An' 'ow she blushed! O, strike! it was divine
The way
she raised 'er shinin' eyes to mine.
'Er eyes! Soft in the moon; such BOSHTER eyes!
An' when they
sight a bloke...O, spare me days!
'E goes all loose inside; such
glamour lies
In 'er sweet gaze.
It makes 'im all ashamed uv wot 'e's been
To look
inter the eyes of my Doreen.

The wet sands glistened, an' the gleamin' moon
Shone yeller on the

sea, all streakin' down.
A band was playin' some soft, dreamy choon;
An' up the town
We 'eard the distant tram-cars whir an' clash.
An'
there I told Per 'ow I'd done me dash.
"I wish't yeh meant it." 'Struth! And did I, fair?
A bloke 'ud be a dawg
to kid a skirt
Like her. An' me well knowin' she was square.
It 'ud be dirt!
'E'd be no man to point wiv her, an' kid.
I meant it
honest; an' she knoo I did.
She knoo. I've done me block in on her, straight.
A cove 'as got to
think some time in life
An' get some decent tart, ere it's too late,
To be 'is wife.
But, Gawd! 'Oo would 'a' thort it could 'a' been
My
luck to strike the likes of Per?...Doreen!
Aw, I can stand their chuckin' off, I can.
It's 'ard; an' I'd delight to
take 'em on.
The dawgs! But it gets that way wiv a man
When 'e's fair gone.
She'll sight no stoush; an' so I have to take

Their mag, an' do a duck fer her sweet sake.
Fer 'er sweet sake I've gone and chucked it clean:
The pubs an'
schools an' all that leery game.
Fer when a bloke 'as come to know
Doreen,
It ain't the same.
There's 'igher things, she sez, for blokes to do.
An'
I am 'arf believin' that it's true.
Yes, 'igher things--that wus the way she spoke;
An' when she looked
at me I sorter felt
That bosker feelin' that comes o'er a bloke,
An' makes 'im melt;
Makes 'im all 'ot to maul 'er, an' to shove
'Is
arms about'er...Bli'me? but it's love!

That's wot it is. An' when a man 'as grown
Like that 'e gets a sorter
yearn inside
To be a little 'ero on 'is own;
An' see the pride
Glow in the eyes of 'er 'e calls 'is queen;
An' 'ear
'er say 'e is a shine champeen.
"I wish't yeh meant it," I can 'ear 'er yet,
My bit o' fluff! The moon
was shinin' bright,
Turnin' the waves all yeller where it set--
A bonzer night!
The sparklin' sea all sorter gold an' green;
An' on
the pier the band--O, 'Ell!... Doreen!
V. The Play
"Wots in a name?" she sez...An' then she sighs,
An' clasps 'er little
'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes.
"A rose," she sez, "be any other name

Would smell the same.
Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir?

Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!"
Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show--
The swell two-dollar touch.
Bong tong, yeh know.
A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat;
A
slap-up treat.
The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago,
About
a barmy goat called Romeo.
"Lady, be yonder moon I swear!" sez 'e.
An' then 'e climbs up on the
balkiney;
An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words
Like two
love-birds.
I nudge Doreen. She whispers, "Ain't it grand!"
'Er eyes
is shinin'; an' I squeeze 'er 'and.
"Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno.
Billo is just as good as
Romeo.
She may be Juli-er or Juli-et--
'E loves 'er yet.
If she's the
tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen,
Names never count...But ar, I like
"Doreen!"
A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard;
Ther's music 'angs around that
little word,
Doreen!...But wot was this I starts