224
BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS
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!
What's the good o' pleadin, when the mother that bore you
(Mary, pity women!) knew it all before you?
Sleep on 'is promises an' wake to your sorrow
(Mary, pity women!), for we sail to-morrow!
