While The Billy BoilsSearchAn’ so ’e’s dead in London,
An’ answered to the call,
An’ trotted through the Long Street,
With ’earse an’ plumes an’ all?
We was village boys an’ brothers—
We was warm as we could be,
In the milk-walk an’ the fried fish,
Up in London, ’im an’ me.
We was warm,
We was warm,
As we ’ad always been;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.
I lived round Windsor Terrace,
An’ ’im across the wye,
An’ when I sailed a emigrant
We never said good-bye!
He wos better than a brother—
Wot you Bushmen call a mate.
(Did he reach the rylwye stytion,
As they told me, just too late!)
We was warm,
We was warm,
As pals was ever seen;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.
I meant to go back ’ome again,
I meant to write to-night;
I meant to write by every mail,
But I thought ’e oughter write.
An’ now ’e’s left North London—
For a better place, perhaps—
She’s flauntin’ in ’er widder weeds,
With eyes on other chaps.
We was warm,
We was warm,
As we ’ad always been;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.
Oh! tongues is bad in wimmin,
When wimmin’s tongues is bad!
For they’ll part men an’ brothers
World oceans wide, my lad!
There was seven years between us,
An’ fifteen thousand mile,
An’ now there’s death an’ sorrer
For ever an’ awhile.
We was warm,
We was warm,
As two was ever seen;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.