INCLUSIVE EDITION, 1885-1918 519
It aren't no false alarm,
The finish to your fun; You you 'ave brung the 'arm,
An' I'm the ruined one;
An' now you'll off an' run With some new fool in tow.
Your 'eart? You 'aven't none. . . . Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
When a man is tired there is naught will bind 'im; All 'e solemn promised 'e will shove be'ind 'im. What's the good o pray in for The Wrath to strike J im (Mary, pity women!}, when the rest are like 'im ?
What 'ope for me or it?
What's left for us to do? I've walked with men a bit,
But this but this is you.
So 'elp me Christ, it's true! Where can I 'ide or go ?
You coward through and through! . . Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
All the more you give 'em the less are they for givin Love lies dead, an' you can not kiss 'im livin' . Down the road 'e led you there is no returnin' (Mary, pity women /), but you're late in learnin' !
You'd like to treat me fair?
You can't, because we're pore? We'd starve ? What do I care !
We might, but this is shore!
I want the name no more The name, an' lines to show,
An' not to be an 'ore. . . . Ah, Gawd, I love you so!
