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'Ere's me 'oo never took no 'eed o' life,
Investin' in a mar-in-lor an' wife:
Someone to battle fer besides meself,
Somethink to love an' shield frum care an' strife.
It makes yeh solim when yeh come to think
Wot love and marridge means. Ar, strike me pink!
It ain't all sighs and kisses. It's yer life.
An' ere's me tremblin' on the bloomin' brink.
"'Er pore dead Par," she sez, an' gulps a sob.
An' then I tells 'er 'ow I got a job,
As storeman down at Jones's printin' joint,
A decent sort o' cop at fifty bob.
Then things get 'ome-like; an' we torks till late,
An' tries to tease Doreen to fix the date,
An' she gits suddin soft and tender-like,
An' cries a bit, when we parts at the gate.
An' as I'm moochin' 'omeward frum the car
A suddin notion stops me wiv a jar—
Wot if Doreen, I thinks, should grow to be
A fat ole weepin' willer like 'er Mar!
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