She's fit fer any man, to be 'is queen;
An' you're more forchinit than you kin say,
Young friend," 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez...A queer ole pilot bloke,
Wiv silver 'air. The gentle way 'e dealt
Wiv 'er, the soft an' kindly way 'e spoke
To my Doreen, 'ud make a statcher melt.
I tell yer, square an' all, I sorter felt
A kiddish kind o' feelin' like I'd choke...
"Young friend," 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez, "you two on Choosday week,
Is to be joined in very 'oly bonds.
To break them vows I 'opes yeh'll never seek;
Fer I could curse them 'usbands 'oo absconds!"
"I'll love 'er till I snuff it," I responds.
"Ah, that's the way I likes to 'ear yeh speak,
Young friend," 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez--an' then me 'and 'e grips
"I wish't yeh luck, you an' yer lady fair.
Sweet maid." An' sof'ly wiv 'is finger-tips,
'E takes an' strokes me cliner's shinin' 'air.
An' when I seen 'er standin' blushin' there,
I turns an' kisses 'er, fair on the lips.
"Young friend!" 'e sez.
X. Hitched
"An'--wilt--yeh--take--this--woman--fer--to--be--
Yer--weddid--wife?"...O, strike me! Will I wot?
TAKE 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there ARSTIN' me!
As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
TAKE 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: "Righto!" I sez, "I will.
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