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C J Dennis - The Fate of a Harpist
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There is women, yer Worship, of various kinds:
   An` some of `em`s fluffy a` foolish,
An` some is sispicious an` mean in their minds,
   An` others fair set-like an` mulish.
There is some, as I owns, is real kind -- tho` not many,
   As maybe yer Worship `as coped with -- if any.

But wot can you do with a woman wot `arps?
   I am arskin` the Bench, as a man an` a male --
Wot sticks to `er subjeck an` cavils an` carps,
Wot won`t be put orf it, but `ammers an` `arps
   Till you rock like a ship in a gale.
I`m a plain, placid man, an` me patience is vast;
But the patience of angels gits wobbly at last.

For she `arps on me `abits, she `arps in me ears,
   She `arps on me cricket an` listenin` in;
She `arps an` she `arps, till I`m full of strange fears;
   For I knows there`s no end once I `ear `er begin.
So, am I to be blamed if I rise in me passion
   An` seek for to send `er where `arpin`s the fashion?

For wot can you do with a woman wot `arps?
   I slung `er bokays while me `anger was `ot.
I was full to the teeth of `er flats an` `er sharps;
So I slung `er bokays, while she `ammers an` `arps
   (An` them flowers was till in the pot.)
Well, I needn`t say more; for she`s told all the rest.
But I craves yer man` mercy; an` `opes for the best.
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