Then Juli-et wakes up an’ sees ’im there,
Turns on the water-works an’ tears ’er ’air,
“Dear love,” she sez, “I cannot live alone!”
An’ wiv a moan,
She grabs ‘is pockit knife, an’ ends ’er cares...
"Peanuts or lollies!” sez a boy upstairs.

VI.  The Stror ’at Coot

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.