But still I 'ug
That promise that she give me fer the beach.
The bonzer peach!
Now, as the poit sez, the days drag by
On ledding feet. I wish't they'd do a guy.
I dunno'ow I 'ad the nerve ter speak,
An' make that meet wiv 'er fer Sundee week!
But strike! It's funny wot a bloke'll do
When 'e's all out...She's gorn, when I come-to.
I'm yappin' to me cobber uv me mash....
I've done me dash!
'Er name's Doreen....An' me-that thort I knoo
The ways uv tarts, an' all that smoogin' game!
An' so I ort; fer ain't I known a few?
Yet some'ow...I dunno. It ain't the same.
I carn't tell WOT it is; but, all I know,
I've dropped me bundle--an' I'm glad it's so.
Fer when I come ter think uv wot I been....
'Er name's Doreen.
III. The Stoush o' Day
Ar, these is 'appy days! An' 'ow they've flown--
Flown like the smoke of some inchanted fag;
Since dear Doreen, the sweetest tart I've known,
Passed me the jolt that made me sky the rag.
An' ev'ry golding day floats o'er a chap
Like a glad dream of some celeschil scrap.
Refreshed wiv sleep Day to the mornin' mill
Comes jauntily to out the nigger, Night.
Trained to the minute, confident in skill,
'E swaggers in the East, chock-full o' skite;
Then spars a bit, an' plugs Night on the point.
Out go the stars; an' Day 'as jumped the joint.
The sun looks up, an' wiv a cautious stare,
Like some crook keekin' o'er a winder sill
To make dead cert'in everythink is square,
'E shoves 'is boko o'er an Eastern 'ill,
Then rises, wiv 'is dial all a-grin,
An' sez, "'Ooray! I knoo that we could win!"
Sure of 'is title then, the champeen Day
Begins to put on dawg among 'is push,
An', as he mooches on 'is gaudy way,
Drors tribute from each tree an' flow'r an' bush.
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