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Crikey, Caleb! Did you transcribe all that lingo...? best from Max Quoting Caleb Cluff <[log in to unmask]>: > For those interested in the arcane determinants of this language... > > Wot's in a name?-- she sez . . . An' then she sighs, > An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes. > "A rose," she sez, "be any other name > Would smell the same. > Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir? > Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!" > > > Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show-- > The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know. > A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat; > A slap-up treat. > The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago, > About a barmy goat called Romeo. > > > "Lady, be yonder moon I swear!" sez 'e. > An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney; > An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words > Like two love-birds. > I nudge Doreen. She whispers, "Ain't it grand!" > 'Er eyes is shining an' I squeeze 'er 'and. > > > 'Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno. > Billo is just as good as Romeo. > She may be Juli-er or Juli-et-- > 'E loves 'er yet. > If she's the tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen, > Names never count . . . But ar, I like "Doreen!" > > > A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard; > Ther's music 'angs around that little word, > Doreen! . . . But wot was this I starts to say > About the play? > I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love > 'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove. > > > This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew-- > A dead tough crowd o' crooks--called Montague. > 'Is cliner's push--wot's nicknamed Capulet-- > They 'as 'em set. > Fair narks they are, jist like them back-street clicks, > Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks. > > > Wot's in a name? Wot's in a string o' words? > They scraps in ole Verona wiv the'r swords, > An' never give a bloke a stray dog's chance, > An' that's Romance. > But when they deals it out wiv bricks an' boots > In Little Lon., they're low, degraded broots. > > > Wot's jist plain stoush wiv us, right 'ere to-day, > Is "valler" if yer fur enough away. > Some time, some writer bloke will do the trick > Wiv Ginger Mick, Of Spadger's Lane. > 'E'll be a Romeo, > When 'e's bin dead five 'undred years or so. > > > Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip. > Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip; > An' if you run agin a Capulet, > Jist do a get." > 'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean. > (Same as I done when I first met Doreen.) > > > They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue! > It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two! ' > E'd break away an' start to say good-bye, > An' then she'd sigh > "Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt, > An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt. > > > Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about > A secret weddin'; an' they plan it out. > 'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched: > Then they git 'itched . . . > Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip! > She's 'is for keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip! > > > Ar! but 'e makes me sick! A fair gazob! > E's jist the glarsey on the soulful sob, > 'E'll sigh and spruik, a' 'owl a love-sick vow-- > (The silly cow!) > But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight > 'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate. > > > Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon > As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon, > 'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio, > They 'ave to go > An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets. > They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets. > > > A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt) > Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt. > Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go- > 'Arf round or so. > Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck, > "Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' passes in 'is check. > > > Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell. > "It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell, > Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword, > 'Ow I ongcored! "Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the boot!" > "'Ush!" sez Doreen . . . "Shame!" sez some silly coot. > > > Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do. > The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do, > An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk > An' does a bunk. > They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy. > "Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!" > > > Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead. > Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll think yer dead." > (I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo > A thing or two.) > She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room: > They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb. > > > Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl. > 'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl > Tucked in 'er little coffing, cold an' stiff, > An' in a jiff, > 'E swallows Iysol, throws a fancy fit, > 'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit. > > > Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there, > Tums on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air, > "Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!" > An' wiv a moan, She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares . . . > "Peanuts or lollies!" sez a boy upstairs. > > Caleb > > -----Original Message----- > From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and > poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of andrew burke > Sent: Thursday, 28 September 2006 9:54 AM > To: [log in to unmask] > Subject: Re: Snap in Ozzie lingo > > > ============================================================================== > The information contained in this email and any attachment is confidential > and > may contain legally privileged or copyright material. 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