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"Young friend," 'e sez—an' tears wus in 'is eyes—
"Strive 'ard. Fer many, many years I've lived.
An' I kin but recall wiv tears an' sighs
The lives of some I've seen in marridge gived,"
"My Gawd!" I sez. "I'll strive as no bloke strivved!
Fer don't I know I've copped a bonzer prize?"
"Young friend!" 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez. An' in 'is gentle way,
'E pats the shoulder uv my dear Doreen,
"I've solim'ized grand weddin's in me day,
But 'ere's the sweetest little maid I've seen.
She's fit fer any man, to be 'is queen;
An' you're more forchinit than you kin say,
"Young friend," 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez… A queer ole pilot bloke,
Wiv silver 'air. The gentle way 'e dealt
Wiv 'er, the soft an' kindly way 'e spoke
To my Doreen, 'ud make a statcher melt.
I tell yeh, square an' all. I sorter felt
A kiddish kind o' feelin' like I'd choke…
"Young friend," 'e sez.
"Young friend," 'e sez, "you two on Choosday week,
Is to be joined in very 'oly bonds.
To break them vows I 'opes yeh'll never seek;
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