Doreen

"I wish't yeh menat it,

Bill."  Oh, 'ow me 'eart  Went out to 'er that evnin' on the beach.

I knew she weren't no ordinary tart,      My little peach!

To 'ear 'er voice!  Its gentle sorter tone,  Like soft dream-music of some Dago band.

An' me all out; an' 'oldin' in me own      'Er little 'and.

An' 'ow she blushed!  O, strike! it was

The way she raised 'er shinin' eyes to mine.'Er eyes!  Soft in the moon; such

ER eyes!

An' when they sight a bloke…O, spare me days!'E goes all loose inside; such glamour lies      In 'er sweet gaze.

It makes 'im all ashamed uv wot 'e's

To look inter the eyes of my Doreen.

The wet sands glistened, an' the gleamin' moon  Shone yeller on the sea, all streakin' down.

A band was playin' some soft, dreamy choon;      An' up the

We 'eard the distant tram-cars whir an' clash.

An' there I told Per 'ow I'd done me dash."I wish't yeh meant it."  'Struth!  And did I, fair?  A bloke 'ud be a dawg to kid a

Like her.  An' me well knowin' she was square.      It 'ud be dirt!'E'd be no man to point wiv her, an' kid.

I meant it honest; an' she knoo I did.

She knoo.  I've done me block in on her, straight.  A cove 'as got to think some time in

An' get some decent tart, ere it's too late,      To be 'is wife.

But,

Gawd!  'Oo would 'a' thort it could 'a'

My luck to strike the likes of Per?…Doreen!

Aw,

I can stand their chuckin' off,

I can.  It's 'ard; an' I'd delight to take 'em on.

The dawgs!  But it gets that way wiv a man      When 'e's fair gone.

She'll sight no stoush; an' so I have to

Their mag, an' do a duck fer her sweet sake.

Fer 'er sweet sake I've gone and chucked it clean:  The pubs an' schools an' all that leery game.

Fer when a bloke 'as come to know Doreen,      It ain't the same.

There's 'igher things, she sez, for blokes to do.

An' I am 'arf believin' that it's true.

Yes, 'igher things—that wus the way she spoke;  An' when she looked at me I sorter

That bosker feelin' that comes o'er a bloke,      An' makes 'im melt;

Makes 'im all 'ot to maul 'er, an' to shove'Is arms about'er…Bli'me? but it's love!

That's wot it is.  An' when a man 'as grown  Like that 'e gets a sorter yearn

To be a little 'ero on 'is own;      An' see the

Glow in the eyes of 'er 'e calls 'is queen;

An' 'ear 'er say 'e is a shine champeen."I wish't yeh meant it," I can 'ear 'er yet,  My bit o' fluff!  The moon was shinin' bright,

Turnin' the waves all yeller where it set—      A bonzer night!

The sparklin' sea all sorter gold an' green;

An' on the pier the band—O, 'Ell!… Doreen!