Page:The songs of a sentimental bloke (1917).djvu/96

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been validated.
92
THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE

If she 'ad only roused I might 'a' smiled.
She jist seems 'urt an' crushed; not even riled.
I turns away,
An' yanks me carkis out into the yard,
Like some whipped pup; an' kicks meself reel 'ard.


An' then, I sneaks to bed, an' feels dead crook.
Fer golden quids I couldn't face that look—
That trouble in the eyes uv my Doreen.
Aw, strike! Wot made me go an' do this thing?
I feel jist like a chewed up bit of string,
An' rotten mean!
Fer 'arf an hour I lies there feelin' cheap;
An' then I s'pose, I must 'a' fell asleep.…


"'Ere, Kid, drink this"… I wakes, an' lifts me 'ead,
An' sees 'er standin' there beside the bed;
A basin in 'er 'ands; an' in 'er eyes—
(Eyes that wiv unshed tears is shinin' wet)—
The sort o' look I never shall forget,
Until I dies.
"'Ere, Kid, drink this," she sez, an' smiles at me.
I looks an' spare me days! It wus beef tea!