In a recent court case the male defendant asked the Bench to consider, as man to man, the limits to the patience of the most tolerant husband, in certain circumstances.
There is women, yer Worship, of various kinds: An' some of 'em's fluffy a' foolish, An' some is sispicious an' mean in their minds, An' others fair set-like an' mulish. There is some, as I owns, is real kind -- tho' not many, As maybe yer Worship 'as coped with -- if any. But wot can you do with a woman wot 'arps? I am arskin' the Bench, as a man an' a male -- Wot sticks to 'er subjeck an' cavils an' carps, Wot won't be put orf it, but 'ammers an' 'arps Till you rock like a ship in a gale. I'm a plain, placid man, an' me patience is vast; But the patience of angels gits wobbly at last. For she 'arps on me 'abits, she 'arps in me ears, She 'arps on me cricket an' listenin' in; She 'arps an' she 'arps, till I'm full of strange fears; For I knows there's no end once I 'ear 'er begin. So, am I to be blamed if I rise in me passion An' seek for to send 'er where 'arpin's the fashion? For wot can you do with a woman wot 'arps? I slung 'er bokays while me 'anger was 'ot. I was full to the teeth of 'er flats an' 'er sharps; So I slung 'er bokays, while she 'ammers an' 'arps (An' them flowers was till in the pot.) Well, I needn't say more; for she's told all the rest. But I craves yer man' mercy; an' 'opes for the best.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003|