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Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the
groanI can rip your very heartstrings out with
those; With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun
And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink, And the merry play that drops you, when
you're done, To the thoughts that burn like irons if you
With my“ Plunka - lunka - lunka - lunka
eyes to see your sin
Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof,
I have told the naked stars the grief of man. Let the trumpets snare the foeman to the proof
I have known Defeat, and mocked it as we ran. My bray ye may not alter nor mistake
When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things, But the Song of Lost Endeavour that I make,
Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings ?
With my“ Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!
order moves the line And the lean, locked ranks go roaring
down to die.
The grandam of my grandam was the Lyre
[O the blue below the little fisher-huts!) That the Stealer stooping beachward filled with
fire, Till she bore my iron head and ringing guts! By the wisdom of the centuries I speak
To the tune of yestermorn I set the truthI, the joy of life unquestioned-1, the Greek
I, the everlasting Wonder Song of Youth!
With my “ Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!”
What d'ye lack ?]
“THE LINER SHE'S A LADY.”
THE Liner she's a lady, 'an she never looks nor
'eedsThe Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an''e gives 'er all
she needs; But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet
seas roun', They're just the same as you an' me a-plyin' up
Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, 'angin' round the
The Liner she's a lady by the paint upon 'er face, · An' if she meets an accident they call it sore disThe Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e's always
'andy by, But, oh, the little cargo-boats! they've got to load
The Liner she's a lady, and 'er route is cut an'
dried; The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e always keeps
beside; But, oh, the little cargo-boats that 'aven't any
man! They've got to do their business first, and make
the most they can.
The Liner she's a lady, and if a war should
come, The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e'd bid 'er stay
at home; But, oh, the little cargo-boats that fill with every
tide! 'E'd 'ave to up an' fight for them, for they are
The Liner she's a lady, but if she wasn't made, There still would be the cargo-boats for 'ome an'
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, but if we wasn't
'ere, 'E wouldn't have to fight at all for 'ome an' friends
'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, 'angin' round
the Yard, All the way by Fratton tram down to Ports
mouth ’Ard; Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, waitin' in the