Yeh'd think I wus 'is own white-'eaded boy--
The queer ole finger, wiv 'is gentle ways.
"Young friend," 'e sez, "I wish't yeh bofe great joy."
The langwidge that them parson blokes imploy
Fair tickles me. The way'e bleats an' brays!
"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez...Yes, my Doreen an' me
We're gettin' hitched, all straight an' on the square.
Fer when I torks about the registry--
0 'oly wars! yeh should 'a' seen 'er stare;
"The registry?" she sez, "I wouldn't dare!
I know a clergyman we'll go an' see"...
"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e chats me straight;
An' spouts of death, an' 'ell, an' mortal sins.
"You reckernize this step you contemplate
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.