An' now—well, wot's the odds? I'm only one:
One out uv many 'oo 'as lost a friend.
Manlike, I'll bounce again, an' find me fun;
But fer poor Rose it seems the bitter end.
Fer Rose, an' sich as Rose, when one man dies
It seems the world goes black before their eyes.
Fer Rose, an' sich as Rose, thro' orl the world,
War piles the burdens wiv a 'eavy 'and.
Since bugles called an' banners were unfurled,
A sister'ood 'as growed thro' orl the land—
A 'oly sister'ood that puts aside
Sham things, an' 'and takes 'and in grief—an' pride.
Ar, well; if Mick could 'ear me blither now,
I know jist wot 'e'd say an' 'ow 'e'd look:
"Aw, cut it out, mate; chuck that silly row!
There ain't no sense in takin' sich things crook.
I've took me gamble; an' there's none to blame
Becos I drew a blank; it's in the game."
A parson cove he broke the noos to Rose—
A friend uv mine, a bloke wiv snowy 'air,
An' gentle, soothin' sort o' ways, 'oo goes
Thro' life jist 'umpin' others' loads uv care.
Instid uv Mick—jist one rough soljer lad—
Yeh'd think 'e'd lost the dearest friend 'e 'ad.
