Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357603" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hitched</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">An'—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be<br>Yer—wed ded—wife?— . . . O, strike me! Will I wot?<br>Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me!<br>As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!<br>Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got<br>Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,<br>I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,<br>An' speaks me piece: 'Righto!' I sez, 'I will.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I will,' I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout<br>Come from me bustin' 'eart—I know it did<br>Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,<br>An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.<br>'I will,' I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid<br>To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,<br>An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid<br>To see this solim hitchin' up of us.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Fer—rich-er—er—fer—poorer.' So 'e bleats.<br>'In—sick-ness—an'—in—'ealth,' . . . An' there I stands,<br>An' dunno 'arf the chatter I repeats,<br>Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands.<br>But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands<br>This white-'aired pilot-bloke—but gives it lip,<br>Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands.<br>'In sick-ness—an'—in—' Ar! I got the pip!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick,<br>'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out.<br>'I will!' 'e 'owls; an' fetches me a kick.<br>'Your turn to chin!' 'e tips wiv a shout.<br>An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout.<br>(Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be all 'ands!)<br>An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about,<br>Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick!<br>Got up regardless fer the solim rite.<br>('E 'awks the bunnies when 'e toils, does Mick)<br>An' twice I saw 'im feelin' fer a light<br>To start a fag; an' trembles lest 'e might,<br>Thro' force o' habit like. 'E's nervis too;<br>That's plain, fer orl 'is air o' bluff an' skite;<br>An' jist as keen as me to see it thro'.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, 'struth, the wimmnin! 'Ow they love this frill!<br>Fer Auntie Liz, an' Mar, o' course, wus there;<br>An' Mar's two uncles' wives, an' Cousin Lil,<br>An' 'arf a dozen more to grin and stare.<br>I couldn't make me 'ands fit anywhere!<br>I felt like I wus up afore the Beak!<br>But my Doreen she never turns a 'air,<br>Nor misses once when it's 'er turn to speak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me!<br>It seems a blinded year afore 'e's done.<br>We could 'a' fixed it in the registree<br>Twice over 'fore this cove 'ad 'arf begun.<br>I s'pose the wimmin git some sorter fun<br>Wiv all this guyver, an 'is nibs's shirt.<br>But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin' bun,<br>This stylish splicin' uv a bloke an' skirt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'To—be—yer—weddid—wife—' Aw, take a pull!<br>Wot in the 'ell's 'e think I come there for?<br>An' so 'e drawls an' drones until I'm full,<br>An' wants to do a duck clean out the door.<br>An' yet, fer orl 'is 'igh-falutin' jor,<br>Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin' bloke.<br>If 'twasn't fer the 'oly look 'e wore<br>Yeh'd think 'e piled it on jist fer a joke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An', when at last 'e shuts 'is little book,<br>I 'eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest.<br>But 'Eavens! Now 'ere's muvver goin' crook!<br>An' sobbin' awful on me manly chest!<br>(I wish she'd give them water-works a rest.)<br>'My little girl!' she 'owls. 'O, treat 'er well!<br>She's young—too young to leave 'er muvver's nest!'<br>'Orright, ole chook,' I nearly sez. Oh, 'ell!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An' then we 'as a beano up at Mar's<br>A slap-up feed, wiv wine an' two big geese.<br>Doreen sits next ter me, 'er eyes like stars.<br>O, 'ow I wished their blessed yap would cease!<br>The Parson-bloke 'e speaks a little piece,<br>That makes me blush an' 'ang me silly 'ead.<br>'E sez 'e 'opes our lovin' will increase<br>I likes that pilot fer the things 'e said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'E sez Doreen an' me is in a boat,<br>An' sailin' on the matrimonial sea.<br>'E sez as 'ow 'e hopes we'll allus float<br>In peace an' joy, from storm an' danger free.<br>Then muvver gits to weepin' in 'er tea;<br>An' Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt;<br>An' Cousin Lil comes 'round an' kisses me;<br>Until I feel I'll 'ave to do a bolt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Ginger gits end-up an' makes a speech<br>('E'd 'ad a couple, but 'e wasn't shick.)<br>'My cobber 'ere,' 'e sez, ''as copped a peach!<br>Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick!<br>I 'opes 'e won't fergit 'is pals too quick<br>As wus 'is frien's in olden days, becors,<br>I'm trusting later on,' sez Ginger Mick,<br>'To celebrate the chris'nin'.' . . . 'Oly wars!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last Doreen an' me we gits away,<br>An' leaves 'em doin' nothin' to the scram<br>(We're honey-moonin' down beside the Bay.)<br>I gives a 'arf a dollar to the man<br>Wot drives the cab; an' like two kids we ran<br>To ketch the train—Ah, strike! I could 'a' flown!<br>We gets the carridge right agen the van.<br>She whistles, jolts, an' starts . . . An' we're alone!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Doreen an' me! My precious bit o' fluff!<br>Me own true weddid wife! . . . An' we're alone!<br>She seems so frail, an' me so big an' rough <br>I dunno wot this feelin' is that's grown<br>Inside me 'ere that makes me feel I own<br>A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze<br>Too 'ard fer fear she'll break . . . Then, wiv a groan<br>I starts to 'ear a coot call, 'Tickets, please!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You could 'a' outed me right on the spot!<br>I wus so rattled when that porter spoke. <br>Fer, 'struth! Them tickets I 'ad fair forgot!<br>But 'e fist laughs, an' takes it fer a joke.<br>'We must ixcuse,' 'e sez, 'new-married folk.' <br>An' I pays up, an' grins, an' blushes red….<br>It shows 'ow married life improves a bloke: <br>If I'd bin single I'd 'a' punched 'is head!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clarence+Michael+James+Stanislaus+Dennis">Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357603" data-title="Hitched de Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis" data-description="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..."></div>
</div>
</div>