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Is grave?" 'e sez. An' I jist stan's an' grins;
Fer when I chips, Doreen she kicks me shins.
"Yes, very 'oly is the married state,
"Young friend," 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e mags a lot
Of jooty an' the spiritchuil life,
To which I didn't tumble worth a jot.
"I'm sure," 'e sez, "as you will 'ave a wife
'Oo'll 'ave a noble infl'ince on yer life,
"'Oo is 'er gardjin?" I sez, "'Er ole pot"—
"Young friend!" 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez, "Oh fix yer thorts on 'igh!
Orl marridges is registered up there!
An' you must cleave unto 'er till yeh die,
An' cherish 'er wiv love an' tender care.
E'en in the days when she's no longer fair
She's still yer wife," 'e sez. "Ribuck," sez I.
"Young friend!" 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez—I sez, "Now, listen 'ere:
This isn't one o' them impetchus leaps.
There ain't no tart a 'undreth part so dear
As 'er. She 'as me 'eart an' soul fer keeps!"
An' then Doreen, she turns away an' weeps;
But 'e jist smiles. "Yer deep in love, 'tis clear,
"Young friend," 'e sez.
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