Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/195

Rh A little, old, bent-over lydy, wiv glasses an’ silvery ’air; Must tell ’er I planted ’im nicely, cheer ’er up like.… (Well, I’m blowed, That bullet near catched me a biffer)–I’ll see the old gel if I’m spared.

She’ll tike it to ’eart, pore ol’ lydy, fer ’e was ’er ’ope and ’er joy; ’Is dad used to drink like a knot-’ole, she kept the ’ome goin’, she did: She pinched and she scriped fer ’is scoolin’, ’e was sich a fine ’andsome boy (’Alf Flanders seems packed on me panties)–’e’s ’andsome no longer, pore kid!

This bit o’ a board that I’m packin’ and draggin’ around in the mire, I was tickled to death when I found it. Says I, “’Ere’s a nice little glow.” I was chilled and wet through to the marrer, so I started to make me a fire; And then I says: “No; ’ere, Goblimy, it’ll do for a cross for Joe.”

Well, ’ere ’e is. Gawd! ’Ow one chinges a-lyin’ six weeks in the rain. Joe, me old pal, ’ow I’m sorry; so ’elp me, I wish I could pray. An’ now I ’ad best get a-diggin’ ’is grave (It seems more like a drain)–