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 to say
  About the play?
  I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love
  'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove.

  This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew—
  A dead tough crowd o' crooks—called Montague.
  'Is cliner's push—wot's nicknamed Capulet—
  They 'as 'em set.
  Fair narks they are, jist like them back-street clicks,
  Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks.

  Wot's in a name? Wot's in a string o' words?
  They scraps in ole Verona with the'r swords,
  An' never give a bloke a stray dog's chance,
  An' that's Romance.
  But when they deals it out wiv bricks an' boots
  In Little Lon., they're low, degraded broots.

  Wot's jist plain stoush wiv us, right 'ere to-day,
  Is "valler" if yer fur enough away.
  Some time, some writer bloke will do the trick
  Wiv Ginger Mick,
  Of Spadger's Lane. 'E'LL be a Romeo,
  When 'e's bin dead five 'undred years or so.

  Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip.
  Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip;
  An' if you run agin a Capulet,
  Jist do a get."
  'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean.
  (Same as I done when I first met Doreen.)

  They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue!
  It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two!
  'E'd break away an' start to say good-bye,
  An' then she'd sigh
  "Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt,
  An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt.

  Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about
  A secret wedding; 'an they plan it out.
  'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched:
  Then they git 'itched.
  Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip!
  She's 'is ofr keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip!

  Ar! but'e makes me sick! A fair gazob!
  'E's jist the glarsey on the soulful sob,
  'E'll sigh and spruik, an' 'owl a love-sick vow—
  (The silly cow!)
  But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight
  'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate.

  Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon
  As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon,
  'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio,
  They 'ave to go
  An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets.
  They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets.

  A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt)
  Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt.
  Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go—
  'Arf round or so.
  Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck,
  "Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' passes in 'is check.

  Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell.
  "It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell,
  Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword,
  'Ow I ongcored!
  "Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the boot!"
  "'Ush!" sez Doreen…"Shame!" sez some silly coot.

  Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do.
  The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do,
  An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk
  An' does a bunk.
  They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy.
  "Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!"

  Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead.
  Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll THINK yer dead."
  (I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo
  A thing or two.)
  She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room:
  They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb.

  Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl.
  'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl
  Tucked in 'er little coffing, cold an' stiff,
  An' in a jiff,
  'E swallows lysol, throws a fancy fit,
  'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit.

  Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there,
  Turns on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air,
  "Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!"
  An' wiv a moan,
  She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares…
  "Peanuts or lollies!" sez a boy upstairs.

VI. The Stror 'at Coot

  Ar, wimmin! Wot a blinded fool I've been!
    I arsts meself, wot else could I ixpeck?
  I done me block complete on this Doreen,
    An' now me 'eart is broke, me life's a wreck!
  The dreams I dreamed, the dilly thorts I thunk
  Is up the pole, an' joy 'as done a bunk.

  Wimmin! O strike! I orter known the game!
    Their tricks is crook, their arts is all dead snide.
  The 'ole world over tarts is all the same;
    All soft an' smilin' wiv no 'eart inside.
  But she fair doped me wiv 'er winnin' ways,
  Then crooled me pitch fer all me mortal days.

  They're all the same! A man 'as got to be
    Stric' master if 'e wants to snare 'em sure.
  'E 'as to take a stand an' let 'em see
    That triflin' is a thing'e won't indure.
  'E wants to show 'em that 'e 'olds command,
  So they will smooge an' feed out of 'is 'and.

  'E needs to make 'em feel 'e is the boss,
    An' kid 'e's careless uv the joys they give.
  'E 'as to make 'em think 'e'll feel no loss
    To part wiv any tart 'e's trackin' wiv.
  That all their pretty ways is crook pretence
  Is plain to any bloke wiv common-sense.

  But when the birds is nestin' in the spring,
    An' when the soft green leaves is in the bud,
  'E drops 'is bundle to some fluffy thing.
    'E pays 'er 'omage—an' 'is name is Mud.
  She plays wiv'im an' kids 'im on a treat,
  Until she 'as 'im crawlin' at 'er feet.

  An' then, when 'e's fair orf 'is top wiv love,
    When she 'as got 'im good an' 'ad 'er fun,
  She slings 'im over like a carst-orf glove,
    To let the other tarts see wot she's done.
  All vanity, deceit an' 'eartless kid!
  I orter known; an', spare me days, I did!

  I knoo. But when I looked into 'er eyes—
    Them shinin' eyes o' blue all soft wiv love
  Wiv MIMIC love—they seemed to 'ipnertize.
    I wus content to place 'er 'igh above.
  I wus content to make of 'er a queen;
  An' so she seemed them days…O, 'struth!…Doreen!

  I knoo. But when I stroked 'er glossy 'air
    Wiv rev'rint 'ands, 'er cheek pressed close to mine,
  Me lonely life seemed robbed of all its care;
    I dreams me dreams, an' 'ope begun to shine.
  An' when she 'eld 'er lips fer me to kiss…
  Ar, wot's the use? I'm done wiv all o' this!

  Wimmin!…Oh, I ain't jealous! Spare me days!
    Me? Jealous uv a knock-kneed coot like that!
  'Im! Wiv 'is cute stror 'at an' pretty ways!
    I'd be a mug to squeal or whip the cat.
  I'm glad, I am—glad 'cos I know I'm free!
  There ain't no call to tork o' jealousy.

  I tells meself I'm well out o' the game;
    Fer look, I mighter married 'er-an' then….
  Ar strike! 'Er voice wus music when my name
    Wus on 'er lips on them glad ev'nin's when
  We useter meet. An' then to think she'd go…
  No, I ain't jealous—but—Ar, I dunno!

  I took a derry on this stror 'at coot
    First time I seen 'im dodgin' round Doreen.
  'Im, wiv 'is giddy tie an' Yankee soot,
    Ferever yappin' like a tork-machine
  About "The Hoffis" where 'e 'ad a grip….
  The way 'e smiled at 'er give me the pip!

  She sez I stoushed 'im, when I promised fair
    To chuck it, even to a friendly spar.
  Stoushed 'im! I never roughed 'is pretty 'air!
    I only spanked 'im gentle, fer 'is mar.
  If I'd 'a' jabbed 'im once, there would 'a' been
  An inquest; an' I sez so to Doreen.

  I mighter took an' cracked 'im in the street,
    When she was wiv 'im there lars' Fridee night.
  But don't I keep me temper when we met?
    An' don't I raise me lid an' act perlite?
  I only jerks me elbow in 'is ribs,
  To give the gentle office to 'is nibs.

  Stoushed 'im! I owns I met 'im on the quiet,
    An' worded 'im about a small affair;
  An' when 'e won't put up 'is 'ands to fight—
    ('E sez, "Fer public brawls 'e didn't care")—
  I lays 'im 'cross me knee, the mother's joy,
  An' smacks 'im 'earty, like a naughty boy.

  An' now Doreen she sez I've broke me vow,
    An' mags about this coot's pore, "wounded pride."
  An' then, o' course, we 'as a ding-dong row,
    Wiv 'ot an' stormy words on either side.
  She sez I done it outer jealousy,
  An' so, we parts fer ever—'er an' me.

  Me jealous? Jealous of that cross-eyed cow!
    I set 'im 'cos I couldn't sight 'is face.
  'Is yappin' fair got on me nerves, some'ow.
    I couldn't stand 'im 'angin' round 'er place.
  A coot like that!…But it don't matter much,
  She's welkim to 'im if she fancies such.

  I swear I'll never track wiv 'er no more;
    I'll never look on 'er side o' the street—
  Unless she comes an' begs me pardin for
    Them things she said to me in angry 'eat.
  She can't ixpeck fer me to smooge an' crawl.
  I ain't at ANY woman's beck an' call.

  Wimmin! I've took a tumble to their game.
    I've got the 'ole bang tribe o' cliners set!
  The 'ole world over they are all the same:
    Crook to the core the bunch of 'em—an' yet
  We could 'a' been that 'appy, 'er an' me…
  But, wot's it matter? Ain't I glad I'm free?

  A bloke wiv commin-sense 'as got to own
    There's little 'appiness in married life.
  The smoogin' game is better left alone,
    Fer tarts is few that makes the ideel wife.
  An' them's the sort that loves wivout disguise,
  An' thinks the sun shines in their 'usban's' eyes.

  But when the birds is matin' in the spring,
    An' when the tender leaves begin to bud,
  A feelin' comes—a dilly sorter thing
  That seems to sorter swamp 'im like a flood.
  An' when the fever 'ere inside 'im burns,
  Then freedom ain't the thing fer wot 'e yearns.

  But I 'ave chucked it all. An' yet—I own
    I dreams me dreams when soft Spring breezes stirs;
  An' often, when I'm moonin' 'ere alone,
    A lispin' maid, wiv 'air an' eyes like 'ers,
  'Oo calls me "dad," she climbs upon me knee,
  An' yaps 'er pretty baby tork to me.

  I sorter see a little 'ouse, it seems,
    Wiv someone waitin' for me at the gate…
  Ar, where's the sense in dreamin' barmy dreams,
    I've dreamed before, and nearly woke too late.
  Sich 'appiness could never last fer long,
  We're strangers—'less she owns that she was wrong.

  To call 'er back I'll never lift a 'and;
    She'll never 'ear frum me by word or sign.
  Per'aps, some day, she'll come to understand
    The mess she's made o' this 'ere life o' mine.
  Oh, I ain't much to look at, I admit.
  But'im! The knock-kneed, swivel-eyed misfit?…

VII. The Siren

  She sung a song; an' I sat silent there,
  Wiv bofe 'ands grippin' 'ard on me chair;
    Me 'eart, that yesterdee I thort wus broke
  Wiv 'umpin sich a 'eavy load o' care,
    Come swelling in me throat like I would choke.
  I felt 'ot blushes climbin' to me 'air.

  'Twas like that feelin' when the Spring wind breaves
  Sad music in the sof'ly rustlin' leaves.
    An' when a bloke sits down an' starts to chew
  Crook thorts, wivout quite knowin' why 'e grieves
    Fer things 'e's done 'e didn't ort to do—
  Fair winded wiv the 'eavy sighs 'e 'eaves.

  She sung a song; an' orl at once I seen
  The kind o' crool an' 'eartless broot I been.
    In ev'ry word I read it like a book—
  The slanter game I'd played wiv my Doreen—
    I 'eard it in 'er song; an' in 'er look
  I seen wot made me feel fair rotten mean.

  Poor, 'urt Doreen! My tender bit o' fluff!
  Ar, men don't understand; they're fur too rough;
    Their ways is fur too coarse wiv lovin' tarts;
  They never gives 'em symperthy enough.
    They treats 'em 'arsh; they tramples on their 'earts,
  Becos their own crool 'earts is leather-tough.

  She sung a song; an' orl them bitter things
  That chewin' over lovers' quarrils brings
    Guv place to thorts of sorrer an' remorse.
  Like when some dilly punter goes an' slings
    'Is larst, lone deener on some stiffened 'orse,
  An' learns them vain regrets wot 'urts an' stings.

  'Twas at a beano where I lobs along
  To drown them memories o' fancied wrong.
    I swears I never knoo that she'd be there.
  But when I met 'er eye—O, 'struth, 'twas strong!
    'Twas bitter strong, that jolt o' dull despair!
  'Er look o' scorn!…An' then, she sung a song.

  The choon was one o' them sad, mournful things
  That ketch yeh in the bellers 'ere, and brings
    Tears to yer eyes. The words was uv a tart
  'Oo's trackin' wiv a silly coot 'oo slings
    'Er love aside, an' breaks 'er tender 'eart….
  But 'twasn't that; it was the way she sings.

  To 'ear 'er voice!…A bloke 'ud be a log
  'Oo kep' 'is block. Me mind wus in a fog
    Of sorrer for to think 'ow I wus wrong;
  Ar, I 'ave been a fair ungrateful 'og!
    The feelin' that she put into that song
  'Ud melt the 'eart-strings of a chiner dog.

  I listens wiv me 'eart up in me throat;
  I drunk in ev'ry word an' ev'ry note.
    Tears trembles in 'er voice when she tells 'ow
  That tart snuffed out becos 'e never wrote.
    An' then I seen 'ow I wus like that cow.
  Wiv suddin shame me guilty soul wus smote.

  Doreen she never looked my way; but stood
  'Arf turned away, an' beefed it out reel good,
    Until she sang that bit about the grave;
  "Too late 'e learned 'e 'ad misunderstood!"
    An' then—Gorstrooth! The pleadin' look she gave
  Fair in me face 'ud melt a'eart o' wood.

  I dunno 'ow I seen that evenin' thro'.
  They muster thort I was 'arf shick, I knoo.
    But I 'ad 'urt Doreen wivout no call;
  I seen me dooty, wot I 'ad to do.
    O, strike! I could 'a' blubbed before 'em all!
  But I sat tight, an' never cracked a boo.

  An' when at larst the tarts they makes a rise,
  A lop-eared coot wiv 'air down to 'is eyes
    'E 'ooks on to Doreen, an' starts to roam
  Fer 'ome an' muvver. I lines up an' cries,
    "'An's orf! I'm seein' this 'ere cliner 'ome!"
  An' there we left 'im, gapin' wiv surprise.

  She never spoke; she never said no word;
  But walked beside me like she never 'eard.
    I swallers 'ard, an' starts to coax an' plead,
  I sez I'm dead ashamed o' wot's occurred.
    She don't reply; she never takes no 'eed;
  Jist stares before 'er like a startled bird.

  I tells 'er, never can no uvver tart
  Be 'arf wot she is, if we 'ave to part.
    I tells 'er that me life will be a wreck.
  It ain't no go. But when I makes a start
    To walk away, 'er arms is roun' me neck.
  "Ah, Kid!" she sobs. "Yeh nearly broke me 'eart!"

  I dunno wot I done or wot I said.
  But 'struth! I'll not forgit it till I'm dead—
    That night when 'ope back in me brisket lobs:
  'Ow my Doreen she lays 'er little 'ead
    Down on me shoulder 'ere, an' sobs an' sobs;
  An' orl the lights goes sorter blurred an' red.

  Say, square an' all—It don't seem right, some'ow,
  To say such things; but wot I'm feelin' now
    'As come at times, I s'pose, to uvver men
  When you 'ave 'ad a reel ole ding-dong row,
    Say, ain't it bonzer makin' up agen?
  Straight wire, it's almost worth…Ar, I'm a cow!

  To think I'd ever seek to 'arm a 'air
  Of 'er dear 'ead agen! My oath, I swear
    No more I'll roust on 'er in angry 'eat!
  But still, she never seemed to me so fair;
    She never wus so tender or so sweet
  As when she smooged beneath the lamplight there.

  She's never been so lovin' wiv 'er gaze;
  So gentle wiv 'er pretty wimmin's ways.
    I tells 'er she's me queen, me angel, too.
  "Ah, no, I ain't no angel, Kid," she says.
    "I'm jist a woman, an' I loves yeh true!
  An' so I'll love yeh all me mortal days!"

  She sung a song….'Ere, in me barmy style,
  I sets orl tarts; for in me hour o' trile
    Me soul was withered be a woman's frown,
  An' broodin' care come roostin' on me dile.
    She sung a song….Me 'eart, wiv woe carst down,
  Wus raised to 'Eaven be a woman's smile.