Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan I 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 think. With my lunk! 66 Plunka-lunka - lunka - lunka Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past, Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin And the heavier repentance at the last. Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof- When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things, With my "Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!” [Is it naught to you that hear and pass me by ?] But the word—the word is mine, when the 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 truth— I, the joy of life unquestioned-I, the Greek— I, the everlasting Wonder Song of Youth! With my "Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink !'' So I draw the world together link by link: back! "THE LINER SHE'S A LADY." THE Liner she's a lady, 'an she never looks nor 'eeds The 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 an' down! Plyin' up an' down, Jenny, 'angin' round the Yard, All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth 'Ard; Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' oldPlyin' up an' down, Jenny, waitin' in the cold! The Liner she's a lady by the paint upon 'er face, An' if she meets an accident they call it sore dis grace: The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, and 'e's always 'andy by, But, oh, the little cargo-boats! they've got to load or die. 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 England's pride. The Liner she's a lady, but if she wasn't made, There still would be the cargo-boats for 'ome an' foreign trade. 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 so dear. 'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, 'angin' round the Yard, All the way by Fratton tram down to Portsmouth 'Ard; Anythin' for business, an' we're growin' old— 'Ome an' friends so dear, Jenny, waitin' in the cold! |