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C J Dennis - Hitched
Work rating: Low

An`—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be
  Yer—wedded—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."

"I will," I sez. An` tho` a joyful shout
  Come from me bustin` `eart—I know it did—
Me voice got sorter mangled comin` out,
  An` makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
  "I will," I squeaks. An` I`d `a` give a quid
To `ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
  An` orl the starin` crowd that Mar `ad bid
To see this solim hitchin` up of us.

"Fer—rich-er—er—fer—poorer." So `e bleats.
  "In—sick-ness—an`—in—`ealth," . . . An` there I stands,
An` dunno `arf the chatter I repeats,
  Nor wot the `ell to do wiv my two `ands.
  But `e don`t `urry puttin` on our brands—
This white-`aired pilot-bloke—but gives it lip,
  Dressed in `is little shirt, wiv frills an` bands.
"In sick-ness—an`—in—" Ar! I got the pip!

An` once I missed me turn; an` Ginger Mick,
  `Oo`s my best-man, `e ups an` beefs it out.
"I will!" `e `owls; an` fetches me a kick.
  "Your turn to chin!" `e tips wiv a shout.
  An` there I`m standin` like a gawky lout.
(Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be all `ands!)
  An` wonders wot `e`s goin` crook about,
Wiv `arf a mind to crack `im where `e stands.

O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick!
  Got up regardless fer the solim rite.
(`E `awks the bunnies when `e toils, does Mick)
  An` twice I saw `im feelin` fer a light
  To start a fag; an` trembles lest `e might,
Thro` force o` habit like. `E`s nervis too;
  That`s plain, fer orl `is air o` bluff an` skite;
An` jist as keen as me to see it thro`.

But, `struth, the wimmnin! `Ow they love this frill!
  Fer Auntie Liz, an` Mar, o` course, wus there;
An` Mar`s two uncles` wives, an` Cousin Lil,
  An` `arf a dozen more to grin and stare.
  I couldn`t make me `ands fit anywhere!
I felt like I wus up afore the Beak!
  But my Doreen she never turns a `air,
Nor misses once when it`s `er turn to speak.

Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me!
  It seems a blinded year afore `e`s done.
We could `a` fixed it in the registree
  Twice over `fore this cove `ad `arf begun.
  I s`pose the wimmin git some sorter fun
Wiv all this guyver, an `is nibs`s shirt.
  But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin` bun,
This stylish splicin` uv a bloke an` skirt.

"To—be—yer—weddid—wife—" Aw, take a pull!
  Wot in the `ell`s `e think I come there for?
An` so `e drawls an` drones until I`m full,
  An` wants to do a duck clean out the door.
An` yet, fer orl `is `igh-falutin` jor,
  Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin` bloke.
  If `twasn`t fer the `oly look `e wore
Yeh`d think `e piled it on jist fer a joke.

An`, when at last `e shuts `is little book,
  I `eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest.
But `Eavens! Now `ere`s muvver goin` crook!
  An` sobbin` awful on me manly chest!
  (I wish she`d give them water-works a rest.)
"My little girl!" she `owls. "O, treat `er well!
  She`s young—too young to leave `er muvver`s nest!"
"Orright, ole chook," I nearly sez. Oh, `ell!

An` then we `as a beano up at Mar`s—
  A slap-up feed, wiv wine an` two big geese.
Doreen sits next ter me, `er eyes like stars.
  O, `ow I wished their blessed yap would cease!
  The Parson-bloke `e speaks a little piece,
That makes me blush an` `ang me silly `ead.
  `E sez `e `opes our lovin` will increase—
I likes that pilot fer the things `e said.

`E sez Doreen an` me is in a boat,
  An` sailin` on the matrimonial sea.
`E sez as `ow `e hopes we`ll allus float
  In peace an` joy, from storm an` danger free.
  Then muvver gits to weepin` in `er tea;
An` Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt;
  An` Cousin Lil comes `round an` kisses me;
Until I feel I`ll `ave to do a bolt.

Then Ginger gits end-up an` makes a speech—
  (`E`d `ad a couple, but `e wasn`t shick.)
"My cobber `ere," `e sez, "`as copped a peach!
  Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick!
  I `opes `e won`t fergit `is pals too quick
As wus `is frien`s in olden days, becors,
  I`m trusting later on," sez Ginger Mick,
"To celebrate the chris`nin`." . . . `Oly wars!

At last Doreen an` me we gits away,
  An` leaves `em doin` nothin` to the scram
(We`re honey-moonin` down beside the Bay.)
  I gives a `arf a dollar to the man
  Wot drives the cab; an` like two kids we ran
To ketch the train—Ah, strike! I could `a` flown!
  We gets the carridge right agen the van.
She whistles, jolts, an` starts . . . An` we`re alone!

Doreen an` me! My precious bit o` fluff!
  Me own true weddid wife! . . . An` we`re alone!
She seems so frail, an` me so big an` rough —
  I dunno wot this feelin` is that`s grown
  Inside me `ere that makes me feel I own
A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze
  Too `ard fer fear she`ll break . . . Then, wiv a groan
I starts to `ear a coot call, "Tickets, please!"

You could `a` outed me right on the spot!
  I wus so rattled when that porter spoke. 
Fer, `struth! Them tickets I `ad fair forgot!
  But `e fist laughs, an` takes it fer a joke.
  `We must ixcuse," `e sez, "new-married folk." 
An` I pays up, an` grins, an` blushes red….
  It shows `ow married life improves a bloke: 
If I`d bin single I`d `a` punched `is head!
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