Culture in the Slums
[By WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY: “Inscribed to an intense poet”].
I. Rondeau.
I
“O crikey, Bill!” she ses to me, she ses.
“Look sharp,” ses she, “with them there sossiges.
Yea! sharp with them there bags of mysteree! [1]
For lo!” she ses, “for lo! old pal,” ses she, [2]
“I’m blooming peckish, neither more nor less.” [3]
II
Was it not prime—I leave you all to guess
How prime! to have a jude in love’s distress [4]
Come spooning round, and murmuring balmilee, [5]
“O crikey, Bill!”
III
For in such rorty wise doth Love express [6]
His blooming views, and asks for your address,
And makes it right, and does the gay and free.
I kissed her—I did so! And her and me
Was pals. And if that ain’t good business.
O crikey, Bill!
II. Villanelle.
I
Now ain’t they utterly too—too? [7]
(She ses, my Missus mine, ses she),
Them flymy little bits of Blue. [8]
II
Joe, just you kool ’em—nice and skew [9]
Upon our old meogginee,
Now ain’t they utterly too-too?
III
They’re better than a pot’n a screw,
They’re equal to a Sunday spree,
Them flymy little bits of Blue!
IV
Suppose I put ’em up the flue, [10]
And booze the profits, Joe? Not me. [11]
Now ain’t they utterly too-too?
V
I do the ’Igh Art fake, I do.
Joe, I’m consummate; and I see
Them flymy little bits of Blue.
VI
Which, Joe, is why I ses to you—
Æsthetic-like, and limp, and free—
Now ain’t they utterly too-too,
Them flymy little bits of Blue?
III. Ballade.
I
I often does a quiet read
At Booty Shelley’s poetry; [12]
I thinks that Swinburne at a screed
Is really almost too-too fly;
At Signor Vagna’s harmony [13]
I likes a merry little flutter;
I’ve had at Pater many a shy;
In fact, my form’s the Bloomin’ Utter.
II
My mark’s a tidy little feed,
And ’Enery Irving’s gallery,
To see old ‘Amlick do a bleed,
And Ellen Terry on the die,
Or Franky’s ghostes at hi-spy,
And parties carried on a shutter [14]
Them vulgar Coupeaus is my eye!
In fact, my form’s the Bloomin’ Utter.
III
The Grosvenor’s nuts—it is, indeed!
I goes for ‘Olman ’Unt like pie.
It’s equal to a friendly lead [15]
To see B. Jones’s judes go by.
Stanhope he makes me fit to cry,
Whistler he makes me melt like butter,
Strudwick he makes me flash my cly— [16]
In fact, my form’s the Bloomin’ Utter.
Envoy.
I’m on for any Art that’s ’Igh!
I talks as quite as I can splutter;
I keeps a Dado on the sly;
In fact, my form’s the Blooming Utter!
[1: sausages] [2: friend] [3: very hungry] [4: girl] [5: fondling; softly] [6: thus expressively] [7: nice] [8: i.e. china] [9: look at] [10: pawn] [11: drink] [12: Botticelli(?)] [13: Wagner(?)] [14: The Corsican Brothers(?)] [15: Notes] [16: spend money]