Billy Dibbs

Oo is ’e, an’ wot’s ’e done —
   This ’ere Billy Dibbs?
Jist a washerwoman’s son!
All the scholarships ’e’s won
   They won’t keep ’is nibs.
Moonin’ half ’is time about,
Like a great, big, gawky lout!

Ejicated, if you please!
   But ’oo paid ’is keep?
’Is poor mother, on ’er knees,
Scubbin’, rubbin’ so that ’e’s
   Lived upon the cheap.
Oh, ’e’s kind to ’er an’ that.
So ’e ought to be, the brat!

Mrs Dibbs — poor Polly Dibbs!
   Since ’e was a kid,
Savin’ up in drabs an’ dribs,
Scarce a rag to clothe ’er ribs,
   Starved ’erself, she did,
Starved ’erself so ’e could swank
Learnin’ things above ’is rank.

’Er? Ambitious? Absoloot!
   That’s to put it mild.
Since ’er ’usband, lazy broot,
Took an’ left ’er destitoot
   With that little child,
Dream an’ plan is all she’s done
For the futcher of that son.

Dreams an’ plans about ’er lad.
   Ain’t it too absurd?
’E’s the image of ’is dad,
An’ ’e’s bound to end up bad;
   Jist you mark my word.
Like breeds like. That’s nothin’ fresh.
Bred in bone comes out in flesh.

In ’is bone is badness bred,
   ’Spite of ’is nice ways.
It’s no use to shake your ’ead —
There’ll be proof of wot I’ve said
   One of these fine days.
One of these fine days, you’ll see
Polly will reap misery.

Why the parson takes ’im up
   I can’t understand:
Askin’ ’im to dine an’ sup,
Torkin’ with the upstart pup!
   Why, I’ve seen ’im stand
In the street ’ere, hours on end,
Talkin’ to ’im like a friend!

Doctor an’ the banker, too,
   Gives ’im invites out.
Huh! It strikes me if they knoo
Wot ’is mother ’ad been thro’
   They’d begin to doubt.
But I’d not breathe nothin’ to
Not a soul — not even you.

Oh, you’re jist like all the town —
   Praisin’ ’im like that.
Wot’s ’e done to win renown?
Me? I wouldn’t run ’im down.
   Lor! I ain’t a cat!
Jist you wait. There’ll come a day.
Jist you wait. That’s all I say.

Why ’e ain’t got no idear
   Wot good manners are.
Time again I’ve seen ’im ’ere
Walkin’ in the street, my dear,
   With ’is poor ’ole mar!
Walkin’ with ’er! Patched an’ torn,
Like she was a Duchess born.

When ’e meets ’er in the street
   ’E will raise ’is ’at
Acts as tho’ ’e’s come to greet
Some ’igh lady when they meet.
   Wot do you call that?
Nerve I calls it. Nerve an’ swank!
An’ ’im workin’ in the bank!

Workin’ in the bank. Ho yes!
   Quite a tony job.
’E’s got prospects, I confess,
But ’ow does ’e live an’ dress
   All on forty bob?
Why don’t ’e support ’is mar?
Too ambitious ’im, by far.

Oh, you can say wot you please.
   I know all that tale:
’Ow ’e studies, an’ ’ow ’e’s
Goin’ for some fool degrees.
   But ’e’s bound to fail.
Polly Dibbs’s ’usband’s son
Won’t git nothin’ useful done.

Yesterday I bowled ’im out,
   Showed ’im up reel raw.
Good for nothin’, lazy lout,
Sneakin’ there to loaf about
   Thinkin’ no one saw,
’E’d a cunnin’ mind I know,
Like ’is father thro’ an’ thro’.

’E was down there by the creek
   Lyin’ with a book;
An’, when I begun to speak,
That young upstart ’ad the cheek
   To give me a look
Reel superior, an’ say,
“Please, I’m busy. Go away.”

Busy? Orders me about!
   Polly Dibbs’s brat!
Why, I know that lazy lout
When ’e used to run about
   With no boots or ’at.
Puttin’ on them airs with me!
Barefoot Billy! Ho, we’ll see.

Studyin’? Oh, don’t tell me!
   Well I know ’is sort.
If I’d got a chance to see
I’d ’ave found that book to be
   Vulgar tales or sport.
I know wot them Dibbs’s are.
Don’t tell me. I know ’is par.

’Oo is ’e an’ wot’s ’e done —
   This ’ere Billy Dibbs?
Why I don’t believe ’e’s won
Half them scholarships. I’ve done
   Creditin’ sich fibs.
Told ’im that, right to ’is face.
Huh! I’ll put ’im in ’is place!