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C J Dennis - The Stror `At Coot
Work rating: Low

Ar, wimmin!  Wot a blinded fool I`ve been!
  I arsts meself, wot else could I ixpeck?
I done me block complete on this Doreen,
  An` now me `eart is broke, me life`s a wreck!
The dreams I dreamed, the dilly thorts I thunk
Is up the pole, an` joy `as done a bunk.

Wimmin!  O strike!  I orter known the game!
  Their tricks is crook, their arts is all dead snide.
The `ole world over tarts is all the same;
  All soft an` smilin` wiv no `eart inside.
But she fair doped me wiv `er winnin` ways,
Then crooled me pitch fer all me mortal days.

They`re all the same!  A man `as got to be
  Stric` master if `e wants to snare `em sure.
`E `as to take a stand an` let `em see
  That triflin` is a thing`e won`t indure.
`E wants to show `em that `e `olds command,
So they will smooge an` feed out of `is `and.

`E needs to make `em feel `e is the boss,
  An` kid `e`s careless uv the joys they give.
`E `as to make `em think `e`ll feel no loss
  To part wiv any tart `e`s trackin` wiv.
That all their pretty ways is crook pretence
Is plain to any bloke wiv common-sense.

But when the birds is nestin` in the spring,
  An` when the soft green leaves is in the bud,
`E drops `is bundle to some fluffy thing.
  `E pays `er `omage—an` `is name is Mud.
She plays wiv`im an` kids `im on a treat,
Until she `as `im crawlin` at `er feet.

An` then, when `e`s fair orf `is top wiv love,
  When she `as got `im good an` `ad `er fun,
She slings `im over like a carst-orf glove,
  To let the other tarts see wot she`s done.
All vanity, deceit an` `eartless kid!
I orter known; an`, spare me days, I did!

I knoo.  But when I looked into `er eyes—
  Them shinin` eyes o` blue all soft wiv love
Wiv MIMIC love—they seemed to `ipnertize.
  I wus content to place `er `igh above.
I wus content to make of `er a queen;
An` so she seemed them days…O, `struth!…Doreen!

I knoo.  But when I stroked `er glossy `air
  Wiv rev`rint `ands, `er cheek pressed close to mine,
Me lonely life seemed robbed of all its care;
  I dreams me dreams, an` `ope begun to shine.
An` when she `eld `er lips fer me to kiss…
Ar, wot`s the use?  I`m done wiv all o` this!


Wimmin!…Oh, I ain`t jealous!  Spare me days!
  Me?  Jealous uv a knock-kneed coot like that!
`Im!  Wiv `is cute stror `at an` pretty ways!
  I`d be a mug to squeal or whip the cat.
I`m glad, I am—glad `cos I know I`m free!
There ain`t no call to tork o` jealousy.

I tells meself I`m well out o` the game;
  Fer look, I mighter married `er-an` then….
Ar strike!  `Er voice wus music when my name
  Wus on `er lips on them glad ev`nin`s when
We useter meet.  An` then to think she`d go…
No, I ain`t jealous—but—Ar, I dunno!

I took a derry on this stror `at coot
  First time I seen `im dodgin` round Doreen.
`Im, wiv `is giddy tie an` Yankee soot,
  Ferever yappin` like a tork-machine
About "The Hoffis" where `e `ad a grip….
The way `e smiled at `er give me the pip!

She sez I stoushed `im, when I promised fair
  To chuck it, even to a friendly spar.
Stoushed `im!  I never roughed `is pretty `air!
  I only spanked `im gentle, fer `is mar.
If I`d `a` jabbed `im once, there would `a` been
An inquest; an` I sez so to Doreen.

I mighter took an` cracked `im in the street,
  When she was wiv `im there lars` Fridee night.
But don`t I keep me temper when we met?
  An` don`t I raise me lid an` act perlite?
I only jerks me elbow in `is ribs,
To give the gentle office to `is nibs.

Stoushed `im!  I owns I met `im on the quiet,
  An` worded `im about a small affair;
An` when `e won`t put up `is `ands to fight—
  (`E sez, "Fer public brawls `e didn`t care")—
I lays `im `cross me knee, the mother`s joy,
An` smacks `im `earty, like a naughty boy.

An` now Doreen she sez I`ve broke me vow,
  An` mags about this coot`s pore, "wounded pride."
An` then, o` course, we `as a ding-dong row,
  Wiv `ot an` stormy words on either side.
She sez I done it outer jealousy,
An` so, we parts fer ever—`er an` me.

Me jealous?  Jealous of that cross-eyed cow!
  I set `im `cos I couldn`t sight `is face.
`Is yappin` fair got on me nerves, some`ow.
  I couldn`t stand `im `angin` round `er place.
A coot like that!…But it don`t matter much,
She`s welkim to `im if she fancies such.

I swear I`ll never track wiv `er no more;
  I`ll never look on `er side o` the street—
Unless she comes an` begs me pardin for
  Them things she said to me in angry `eat.
She can`t ixpeck fer me to smooge an` crawl.
I ain`t at ANY woman`s beck an` call.

Wimmin!  I`ve took a tumble to their game.
  I`ve got the `ole bang tribe o` cliners set!
The `ole world over they are all the same:
  Crook to the core the bunch of `em—an` yet
We could `a` been that `appy, `er an` me…
But, wot`s it matter?  Ain`t I glad I`m free?

A bloke wiv commin-sense `as got to own
  There`s little `appiness in married life.
The smoogin` game is better left alone,
  Fer tarts is few that makes the ideel wife.
An` them`s the sort that loves wivout disguise,
An` thinks the sun shines in their `usban`s` eyes.

But when the birds is matin` in the spring,
  An` when the tender leaves begin to bud,
A feelin` comes—a dilly sorter thing
That seems to sorter swamp `im like a flood.
An` when the fever `ere inside `im burns,
Then freedom ain`t the thing fer wot `e yearns.

But I `ave chucked it all.  An` yet—I own
  I dreams me dreams when soft Spring breezes stirs;
An` often, when I`m moonin` `ere alone,
  A lispin` maid, wiv `air an` eyes like `ers,
`Oo calls me "dad," she climbs upon me knee,
An` yaps `er pretty baby tork to me.

I sorter see a little `ouse, it seems,
  Wiv someone waitin` for me at the gate…
Ar, where`s the sense in dreamin` barmy dreams,
  I`ve dreamed before, and nearly woke too late.
Sich `appiness could never last fer long,
We`re strangers—`less she owns that she was wrong.

To call `er back I`ll never lift a `and;
  She`ll never `ear frum me by word or sign.
Per`aps, some day, she`ll come to understand
  The mess she`s made o` this `ere life o` mine.
Oh, I ain`t much to look at, I admit.
But`im!  The knock-kneed, swivel-eyed misfit?…
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