 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
A CRY FROM THE GUTTER.
“Wot's the evenin news, me matey? Tell us;
Fur it's offul heer aloän,
Whon ther's summut broken in yer bellus,
An the mischief be unknoän;
Whan yer vice be loike a fiddle scrapin,
With a wheezin whustlin soun;
Or a rusty hinge as hangs, a shapin
Fur ter dror itsel aroun.
Fur it's offul heer aloän,
Whon ther's summut broken in yer bellus,
An the mischief be unknoän;
486
With a wheezin whustlin soun;
Or a rusty hinge as hangs, a shapin
Fur ter dror itsel aroun.
“Docter bin—ar knowed he were a cummin,
Cause the dip med coffin shells;
An ther were a curous kinder strummin
In me earn, loike funeral bells.
An he says, says he, “It's mainly pinin,
As is pinchin yer, ole chap;
An yer westcut wants a better linin,
Leastways not the loikes o' pap.
Cause the dip med coffin shells;
An ther were a curous kinder strummin
In me earn, loike funeral bells.
An he says, says he, “It's mainly pinin,
As is pinchin yer, ole chap;
An yer westcut wants a better linin,
Leastways not the loikes o' pap.
““Aint yer got no friends, excep the parrish,
As ken tide yer over this,
That yer croaks loike bull-frogs in a marrish?
Whar's yer clargy maam or miss?”
“An he larfs, “Ye've sich a constitootion,
As should be a Briton's pride,
Loike Ole England's, wuss fur Rivolootion,
An the rats that gnaws inside.”
As ken tide yer over this,
That yer croaks loike bull-frogs in a marrish?
Whar's yer clargy maam or miss?”
“An he larfs, “Ye've sich a constitootion,
As should be a Briton's pride,
Loike Ole England's, wuss fur Rivolootion,
An the rats that gnaws inside.”
“Thin he tries me tongue, an pokes his fisties
In me ribs an on me back;
Taks his watch (all gole) an feels me wristies,
Till the verra sinews crack.
“Wall,” says he, “ar knows a barn-door creakin,
Bets the beauties wot goes fast;
Pull yer through ar wull, if with some squeakin,
But this time muss be the last.”
In me ribs an on me back;
Taks his watch (all gole) an feels me wristies,
Till the verra sinews crack.
“Wall,” says he, “ar knows a barn-door creakin,
Bets the beauties wot goes fast;
Pull yer through ar wull, if with some squeakin,
But this time muss be the last.”
—“Wot d'ye says? Mor fellers in the gutter,
Sacked, an by thez furrin blokes,
Prigs our bread, mate—let aloän the butter,
Whither we go hang an chokes?
Plague on thim, an cusses on the mortals
As is huntin north an south
Fur the labour, pinin at ther portals,
Takin food frum childer's mouth.
Sacked, an by thez furrin blokes,
Prigs our bread, mate—let aloän the butter,
Whither we go hang an chokes?
Plague on thim, an cusses on the mortals
As is huntin north an south
Fur the labour, pinin at ther portals,
Takin food frum childer's mouth.
“Whoy doant furrin chappy stick ter his'n,
Kip hez crack-jaw lingo ter hez kin?
Whoy be ourn the poor-house or the prison,
If we're lucky ter creep in?
An ther aint no kinder use o' cryin
Fur the money, or a male—
Cep fur maggots, whan it coom ter dyin;
Yer ken on'y starve or stale.
Kip hez crack-jaw lingo ter hez kin?
Whoy be ourn the poor-house or the prison,
If we're lucky ter creep in?
An ther aint no kinder use o' cryin
Fur the money, or a male—
Cep fur maggots, whan it coom ter dyin;
Yer ken on'y starve or stale.
487
“Seem ter me, ther muss be summut rottin,
In a country loike this heer;
Whan it's flesh and blood is all furgottin,
An the stranger drinks its beer.
Seem ter me, as this poor bleedin nation,
That they tickles jist with straws,
Wants a precious sight o' alteration,
In its leaders or its laws.
In a country loike this heer;
Whan it's flesh and blood is all furgottin,
An the stranger drinks its beer.
Seem ter me, as this poor bleedin nation,
That they tickles jist with straws,
Wants a precious sight o' alteration,
In its leaders or its laws.
“Ar were allers peaceful, hated brawlin,
Niver keered as some ter roäm;
But ar doant loike an woant hev this crawlin,
Shunted out of house an hoäm.
Vittels we muss git, an fur our labour,
As shan't thus a-beggin lie;
Is't our guv'nors' duty ter ther neighbour,
If they lets un drop an die?
Niver keered as some ter roäm;
But ar doant loike an woant hev this crawlin,
Shunted out of house an hoäm.
Vittels we muss git, an fur our labour,
As shan't thus a-beggin lie;
Is't our guv'nors' duty ter ther neighbour,
If they lets un drop an die?
“Times is bad, in coorse, but hearts aint better,
If the bizness limp in chains;
It's the charity wot feel the fetter,
An ther's rogues as pockets gains.
Makin ev'ry 'lowance fur the saison,
Yet if 'ployers work ken give
Furrin hands, it sure-ly stan ter raison,
Us has stronger right ter live.
If the bizness limp in chains;
It's the charity wot feel the fetter,
An ther's rogues as pockets gains.
Makin ev'ry 'lowance fur the saison,
Yet if 'ployers work ken give
Furrin hands, it sure-ly stan ter raison,
Us has stronger right ter live.
“Wot's the wuth of all yer rates an taxes,
Whan yer brother han't a boän?
If fur but a pauper's crust he axes,
An yer gives the pavement stoän?
Ah, ther's summut wrong as cries fur mendin,
'Pears ter pass our bosses' skill,
Though a million voices votes its endin;
If they woant, the people will.
Whan yer brother han't a boän?
If fur but a pauper's crust he axes,
An yer gives the pavement stoän?
Ah, ther's summut wrong as cries fur mendin,
'Pears ter pass our bosses' skill,
Though a million voices votes its endin;
If they woant, the people will.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |