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C J Dennis - Mar
Work rating: Low

"`Er pore dear Par." she sez, "`e kept a store";
An` then she weeps an` stares `ard at the floor.
  "`Twas thro` `is death," she sez, "we wus rejuiced
To this," she sez . . . An` then she weeps some more.
 
"`Er par," she sez, "me poor late `usband, kept
An `ay an` corn store. `E`d no faults ixcept
  `Im fallin` `eavy orf a load o` charf
W`ich - killed `im - on the - " `Struth! But `ow she wept.

She blows `er nose an` sniffs. "`E would `a` made"
She sez, "a lot of money in the trade.
  But, `im took orf so sudden-like, we found
`E `adn`t kept `is life insurince paid.

"To think," she sez, "a child o` mine should be
Rejuiced to workin` in a factory!
  If `er pore Par `e `adn`t died," she sobs…
I sez, "It wus a bit o` luck for me."

Then I gits `as red as `ell, "That is - I mean,"
I sez, "I mighter never met Doreen
  If `e `ad not" - an` `ere I lose me block -
"I `ope," I sez, "`e snuffed it quick and clean."

An` that wus `ow I made me first deboo.
I`d dodged it cunnin` fer a month or two.
  Doreen she sez, "You`ll have to meet my Mar,
Some day," she sez.  An` so I seen it thro`.

I`d pictered some stern female in a cap
Wot puts the fear o` Gawd into a chap
  And `ere she wus, aweepin` in `er tea
An` drippin` moistcher like a leaky tap.

Two dilly sorter dawgs made outer delf
Stares `ard at me frum orf the mantelshelf.
  I seemed to symperthise wiv them there pups;
I felt so stiff an` brittle-like meself.

Clobber?  Me trosso, `ead to foot, wus noo -
Got up regardless, fer this interview.
  Stiff shirt, a Yankee soot split up the back,
A tie wiv yeller spots an` stripes o` blue.

Me cuffs kep` playing wiv me nervis fears
Me patent leathers nearly brought the tears
  An` there I sits wiv, "Yes, mum.  Thanks.  Indeed?"
Me stand-up collar sorin` orf me ears.

"Life`s `ard," she sez, an` then she brightens up.
"Still, we `ave alwus `ad our bite and sup.
  Doreen`s been sich a help; she `as indeed.
Some more tea, Willy?  `Ave another cup."

Willy! O `ell! `Ere wus a flaming pill!
A moniker that alwus makes me ill.
  "If it`s the same to you, mum," I replies
"I answer quicker to the name of Bill."

Up goes `er `ands an` eyes.  "That vulgar name!"
No, Willy, but it isn`t all the same,
  My fucher son must be respectable."
"Orright," I sez, "I s`pose it`s in the game."

"Me fucher son," she sez, "right on frum this
Must not take anythink I say amiss.
  I know me jooty by me son-in-lor;
So, Willy, come an` give ya Mar a kiss".

I done it.  Tho` I dunno `ow I did.
"Dear boy," she sez, "to do as you are bid.
  Be kind to `er," she sobs, "my little girl!"
An` then I kiss Doreen.  She sez "Ah Kid!".

Doreen! Ar `ow `er pretty eyes did shine.
No sight on earth or `Eaving`s `arf so fine,
  An` as they looked at me she seemed to say
"I`m proud of `im, I am, an` `e is mine."

There was a sorter glimmer in `er eye,
An `appy, nervis look, `arf proud, `arf shy;
  I seen `er in me mind be`ind the cups
In our own little kipsie, bye an` bye.

An` then when Mar-in-lor an` me began
To tork of `ouse`old things an` scheme an` plan,
  A sudden thort fair jolts me where I live:
"These is my wimmin folk! An` I`m a man!"

It`s wot they calls responsibility.
All of a `eap that feelin` come to me;
  An` somew`ere in me `ead I seemed to feel
A sneakin` sort o` wish that I was free.

`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 and 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 temblin` 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` printin` joint,
A decent sorter cop for fifty bob.

The things get `ome-like; an` we torks till late,
An` tries to tease Doreen to fix the date,
  An` she gits sudden soft and tender-like,
An` cries a bit, when we parts at the gate.

An` as I`m moochin` `omeward frum the car
A sudden notion stops me wiv a jar -
  Wot if Doreen, I thinks, should grow to be,
A fat ole weepin` willer like `er Mar!

O, `struth!  It won`t bear thinkin` of!  It`s crook!
An` I`m a mean, unfeelin` dawg to look
  At things like that.  Doreen`s Doreen to me,
The sweetest peach on w`ich a man wus shook.

`Er "pore dear Par"…I s`pose `e `ad `is day,
An` kissed and smooged an` loved `er in `is way.
  An` wed an` took `is chances like a man -
But, Gawd, this splicin` racket ain`t all play.

Love is a gamble, an` there ain`t no certs.
Some day, I s`pose, I`ll git wise to the skirts.
  An` learn to take the bitter wiv the sweet…
But strike me purple!  "Willy!"  That`s wot `urts.
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