“To—­be—­yer—­weddid—­wife—­” Aw, take a pull! 
  Wot in the ’ell’s ’e think I come there for? 
An’ so ‘e drawls an’ drones until I’m full,
  An’ wants to do a duck clean out the door. 
  An’ yet, fer orl ’is ‘igh-falutin’ jor,
Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin’ bloke. 
  If ’twasn’t fer the ’oly look ’e wore
Yeh’d think ’e piled it on jist fer a joke.

An’, when at last ’e shuts ’is little book,
  I ’eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest. 
But ’Eavens!  Now ‘ere’s muvver goin’ crook! 
  An’ sobbin’ awful on me manly chest! 
  (I wish she’d give them water-works a rest.)
“My little girl!” she ’owls.  “O, treat’er well! 
  She’s young—­too young to leave ’er muvver’s nest!”
“Orright, ole chook,” I nearly sez.  Oh, ’ell!

An’ then we ’as a beano up at Mar’s—­
  A slap-up feed, wiv wine an’ two big geese. 
Doreen sits next ter me, ’er eyes like stars. 
  O, ’ow I wished their blessed yap would cease! 
  The Parson-bloke ’e speaks a little piece,
That makes me blush an’ ’ang me silly ’ead. 
  ’E sez ’e ‘opes our lovin’ will increase—­
I likes that pilot fer the things ’e said.

‘E sez Doreen an’ me is in a boat,
  An’ sailin’ on the matrimonial sea. 
’E sez as ’ow ’e ’opes we’ll allus float
  In peace an’ joy, from storm an’ danger free. 
  Then muvver gits to weepin’ in ’er tea;
An’ Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt;
  An’ Cousin Lil comes ‘round an’ kisses me;
Until I feel I’ll ’ave to do a bolt.

Then Ginger gits end-up an’ makes a speech—­
  (’E’d ’ad a couple, but ’e wasn’t shick.)
“My cobber ’ere,” ’e sez, “’as copped a peach! 
  Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick! 
  I ’opes ’e won’t fergit ’is pals too quick
As wus ’is frien’s in olden days, becors,
  I’m trustin’, later on,” sez Ginger Mick,
“To celebrate the chris’nin’."...’Oly wars!

At last Doreen an’ me we gits away,
  An’ leaves ’em doin’ nothin’ to the scran. 
(We’re honey-moonin’ down beside the Bay.)
  I gives a ’arf a dollar to the man
  Wot drives the cab; an’ like two kids we ran
To ketch the train—­Ah, strike!  I could ‘a’ flown! 
  We gets the carridge right agen the van. 
She whistles, jolts, an’ starts...An’ we’re alone!

Doreen an’ me!  My precious bit o’ fluff! 
  Me own true weddid wife!...An’ we’re alone! 
She seems so frail, an’ me so big an’ rough—­
  I dunno wot this feelin’ is that’s grown
  Inside me ’ere that makes me feel I own
A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze
  Too ’ard fer fear she’ll break...Then, wiv a groan
I starts to ’ear a coot call, “Tickets, please!”

You could ‘a’ outed me right on the spot! 
  I wus so rattled when that porter spoke. 
Fer, ’struth! them tickets I ’ad fair forgot! 
  But ‘e jist laughs, an’ takes it fer a joke. 
  “We must ixcuse,” ’e sez, “new-married folk.” 
An’ I pays up, an’ grins, an’ blushes red.... 
It shows ’ow married life improves a bloke: 
If I’d bin single I’d ‘a’ punched ’is head!