Backblock Ballads and Later Verses/Weary

by C. J. Dennis

Weary

Oh, I'm sick of the whole darned human race,
    And I'm sick of this earthly ball;
I'm sick of the sight of my brother's face,
    And his works and talk and all;
I'm sick of the silly sounds I hear,
    I'm sick of the sights I see;
Omar Khayyam he knew good cheer,
    And it's much the same with me.

Give me a bit of a bough to sit
    Beneath, and a book of rhyme,
And a cuddlesome girl that sings a bit,
    But don't sing all the time;
That's all I ask, and it's only just;
    For it's all that I hold dear—
A bough and a book and a girl and a crust;
    That, and a jug of beer.

Then I'll cuddle my girl and I'll quaff my ale
    As we sit on the leafy floor;
And when the book and the beer jug fail,
    I'll cuddle my girl some more.
For jugs give out and books get slow,
    But you take my tip for square—
Though the bough and the book and the beer jug go,
    The girl, she's always there.

I'm sick of the sound of my fellows' voice;
    I'm sick of their schemes and shams;
Of trying to choose when there ain't no choice,
    And of damning several damns;
So, give me a girl that ain't too slow.
    You can keep your book of rhyme
And your bough and bread and your beer. Wot O!
    And I'll cuddle her all the time.