'ARRY THE OPTIMIST
Reading edition
I.
Oh! you should see My gal and me (Mariar is 'er nime), When we go daown To Brighton taown To 'ave a gorjus time. She wears sich feathers in 'er 'at, She's beautiful and guy, But it ain't all beer and skittles—flat And 'ere's the reason why: Refrine— She 'urries me, she worries me, To ketch the bloomin' trine; She 'ustles me, she bustles me, She grumbles 'arf the time: It's "'Arry do," and "'Arry don't," Which "'Arry" will, or "'Arry" won't (It goes against the grine), But— (Triumphantly.) We 'as a 'appy 'ollidy, We gets there all the sime. —'Urry up, 'Arry.
II.
And when we reach The Brighton beach It's sure to pour with rine A pub is not A 'appy spot For us to set and drine Yet there we set and tike our beer And while awy the dy, Though we don't 'ave words, no bloomin' fear Mariar 'as 'er sy. Refrine— 'Er langwidge is for sangwidges, She's sorry that she cime; The weather's wrong, 'er feather's wrong, I 'as to tike the blime. It's "'Arry" 'ere, and "'Arry" there, And "'Arry, you're a bloomin' bear," And "'Arry, it's a shime"— (Spoken.)—Which is 'ard on a feller! And then we 'as to ketch the bloomin' trine again, and she do talk, but never mind— (Brightly.) We've 'ad a 'appy 'ollidy, We gits 'ome all the sime. —'Urry up, 'Arry!
Cockney Sport Extraordinary.
Well-known sporting character, residing at Putney, being unable to reach the moors this season, and having lost his gun, has lately amused himself by bringing down several brace of grouse by means of the Brompton omnibus.
At the Zoo. (A Fact).—'Arriet (looking at the Java sparrows). Wot's them? Sparrerkeets?
'Arry. Sparrerkeets be 'anged—them's live 'umming birds.
Common Objects of the Sea Shore.
First seaside saddle polisher. "Wot cheer, 'Arry? 'Ow are yer gettin' on?"
'Arry. "First-rate, old pal. Only this—beggar always—bumps—at the wrong—time!"
Under Correction.
Fare. "Hans Mansions."
Cabby. "Queen Hanne's Mansions, I suppose you mean, miss?"
"Penny 'addick."
"Finen?"
"No; thick 'un!"
First Frenchman. "Ah, mon cher ami!"
Second Frenchman. "Ah, c'est mon cher Alphonse!"
British Workman. "Bloomin' Germans!"
Clerk of Booking-Office. "There is no first class by this train, sir."
'Arry. "Then wot are we going ter do, Bill?"
"Fader's gettin' better. 'E's beginnin' ter swear again!"
Vendor of Pirated Songs. "Er y'are, lidy! ''Oly City', 'Bu'ful Star,' 'Hi cawn't think why Hi lubs yer, but Hi do!'"