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Quotes about doreen

Mar

''Er pore dear Par.' she sez, ''e kept a store';
An' then she weeps an' stares 'ard at the floor.
''Twas thro' 'is death,' she sez, 'we wus rejuiced
To this,' she sez . . . An' then she weeps some more.

''Er par,' she sez, 'me poor late 'usband, kept
An 'ay an' corn store. 'E'd no faults ixcept
'Im fallin' 'eavy orf a load o' charf
W'ich - killed 'im - on the - ' 'Struth! But 'ow she wept.

She blows 'er nose an' sniffs. ''E would 'a' made'
She sez, 'a lot of money in the trade.
But, 'im took orf so sudden-like, we found
'E 'adn't kept 'is life insurince paid.

'To think,' she sez, 'a child o' mine should be
Rejuiced to workin' in a factory!
If 'er pore Par 'e 'adn't died,' she sobs…
I sez, 'It wus a bit o' luck for me.'

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Dummy Bridge

'If I'd 'a' played me Jack on that there Ten'
Sez Peter Begg, 'I might 'a' made the lot.'
''Ow could yeh?' barks ole Poole. ''Ow could yeh, when
I 'ad me Queen be'ind?' Sez Begg, 'Wot rot!
I slung away me King to take that trick.
Which one! Say, ain't yer 'ead a trifle thick?'

'Now, don't yeh see that when I plays me King
I give yer Queen a chance, an' lost the slam.'
But Poole, 'e sez 'e don't see no such thing,
So Begg gits 'ot, an' starts to loose a 'Damn.'
'E twigs the missus jist in time to check,
An' makes it 'Dash,' an' gits red down 'is neck.

There's me an' Peter Begg, an' ole man Poole
Neighbours uv mine, that farm a bit close by
Jist once a week or so we makes a school,
An' gives this game uv Dummy Bridge a fly.
Doreen, she 'as her sewing be the fire,
The kid's in bed; an' 'ere's me 'eart's desire.

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The Intro

'Er name's Doreen…Well spare me bloomin' days!
You could er knocked me down wiv 'arf a brick!
Yes, me, that kids meself I know their ways,
An' 'as a name for smoogin' in our click!
I just lines up an' tips the saucy wink.
But strike! The way she piled on dawg! Yer'd think
A bloke was givin' back-chat to the Queen….
'Er name's Doreen.

I seen 'er in the markit first uv all,
Inspectin' brums at Steeny Isaacs' stall.
I backs me barrer in—the same ole way
An' sez, 'Wot O! It's been a bonzer day.
'Ow is it fer a walk?'…Oh, 'oly wars!
The sorter look she gimme! Jest becors
I tried to chat 'er, like you'd make a start
Wiv ANY tart.

An' I kin take me oaf I wus perlite.
An' never said no word that wasn't right,

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The Intro

'Er name's Doreen ...Well, spare me bloomin' days!
You could er knocked me down wiv 'arf a brick!
Yes, me, that kids meself I know their ways,
An' 'as a name for smoogin' in our click!
I just lines up 'an tips the saucy wink.
But strike! The way she piled on dawg! Yer'd think
A bloke was givin' back-chat to the Queen....
'Er name's Doreen.

I seen 'er in the markit first uv all,
Inspectin' brums at Steeny Isaacs' stall.
I backs me barrer in - the same ole way --
An' sez, 'Wot O! It's been a bonzer day.
'Ow is it fer a walk?' ... Oh, 'oly wars!
The sorta look she gimme! Jest becors
I tried to chat 'er, like you'd make a start
Wiv any tart.

An' I kin take me oaf I wus perlite.
An' never said no word that wasn't right,

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Uncle Jim

'I got no time fer wasters, lad,' sez 'e,
'Give me a man wiv grit,' sez Uncle Jim.
'E bores 'is cute ole eyes right into me,
While I stares 'ard an' gives it back to 'im.
Then orl at once 'e grips me 'and in 'is:
'Some'ow,' 'e sez, 'I likes yer ugly phiz.'

'You got a look,' 'e sez, 'like you could stay;
Altho' yeh mauls King's English when yeh yaps,
An' 'angs flash frills on ev'rythink yeh say.
I ain't no grammarist meself, per'aps,
But langwidge is a 'elp, I owns,' sez Unk,
'When things is goin' crook.' An' 'ere 'e wunk.

'Yeh'll find it tough,' 'e sez, 'to knuckle down.
Good farmin' is a gift—like spoutin' slang.
Yeh'll 'ave to cut the luxuries o' town,
An' chuck the manners of this back-street gang;
Fer country life ain't cigarettes and beer.'
'I'm game,' I sez. Sez Uncle, 'Put it 'ere!'

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The Races

I've won a day at the races
For me and my friend Doreen Maguire
Posh frocks and new hats
That's what we require.

So off we go shopping
Hair and nails done on the way
Well we girls want to look our best
For the big race day.

Now Doreen's buxom and curvy
Me I'm thin as a latt
Or you could say slim and slender
And Doreen's just fat.

We went in loads of shops
Nothing seemed to fit the bill
Everything was kind of frumpish
And we're definitly not over the hill.

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A Woman's Way

Women is strange. You take my tip; I'm wise.
I know enough to know I'll never know
The 'uman female mind, or wot su'prise
They 'as in store to bring yer boastin' low.
They keep yeh guessin' wot they're up to nex',
An' then, odds on, it's wot yeh least expecks.

Take me. I know me wife can twist me round
'Er little finger. I don't mind that none.
Wot worries me is that I've never found
Which way I'm gittin' twisted, till it's done.
Women is strange. An' yet, I've got to own
I'd make a orful 'ash uv it, alone.

There's this affair uv Rose. I tells yeh straight,
Suspicious don't describe me state uv mind.
The calm way that Doreen 'as fixed the date
An' all, looks like there's somethin' else be'ind.
Somethin' - not spite or meanness; don't think that.
Me wife purrs sometimes, but she ain't a cat.

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The Play

Wot's in a name? -- she sez . . . An' then she sighs,
An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes.
'A rose,' she sez, 'be any other name
Would smell the same.
Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir?
Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!'

Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show --
The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know.
A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat;
A slap-up treat.
The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago,
About a barmy goat called Romeo.

'Lady, be yonder moon I swear!' sez 'e.
An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney;
An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words
Like two love-birds.
I nudge Doreen. She whispers, 'Ain't it grand!'
'Er eyes is shining an' I squeeze 'er 'and.

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The Siren

She sung a song; an' I sat silent there,
Wiv bofe 'ands grippin' 'ard on me chair;
Me 'eart, that yesterdee I thort wus broke
Wiv 'umpin sich a 'eavy load o' care,
Come swelling in me throat like I would choke.
I felt 'ot blushes climbin' to me 'air.

'Twas like that feelin' when the Spring wind breaves
Sad music in the sof'ly rustlin' leaves.
An' when a bloke sits down an' starts to chew
Crook thorts, wivout quite knowin' why 'e grieves
Fer things 'e's done 'e didn't ort to do
Fair winded wiv the 'eavy sighs 'e 'eaves.

She sung a song; an' orl at once I seen
The kind o' crool an' 'eartless broot I been.
In ev'ry word I read it like a book
The slanter game I'd played wiv my Doreen
I 'eard it in 'er song; an' in 'er look
I seen wot made me feel fair rotten mean.

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Hitched

An'—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be
Yer—wed ded—wife?— . . . O, strike me! Will I wot?
Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me!
As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: 'Righto!' I sez, 'I will.'

'I will,' I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout
Come from me bustin' 'eart—I know it did
Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,
An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
'I will,' I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid
To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid
To see this solim hitchin' up of us.

'Fer—rich-er—er—fer—poorer.' So 'e bleats.
'In—sick-ness—an'—in—'ealth,' . . . An' there I stands,

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