Rejected

She says she’s very sorry, as she sees you to the gate; You calmly say ‘Good-bye’ to her while standing off a yard, Then you lift your hat and leave her, walking mighty stiff and straight-- But you’re hit, old man--hit hard.

In your brain the words are burning of the answer that she gave, As you turn the nearest corner and you stagger just a bit; But you pull yourself together, for a man’s strong heart is brave When it’s hit, old man--hard hit.

You might try to drown the sorrow, but the drink has no effect; You cannot stand the barmaid with her coarse and vulgar wit; And so you seek the street again, and start for home direct, When you’re hit, old man--hard hit.

You see the face of her you lost, the pity in her smile-- Ah! she is to the barmaid as is snow to chimney grit; You’re a better man and nobler in your sorrow, for a while, When you’re hit, old man--hard hit.

And, arriving at your lodgings, with a face of deepest gloom, You shun the other boarders and your manly brow you knit; You take a light and go upstairs directly to your room-- But the whole house knows you’re hit.

You clutch the scarf and collar, and you tear them from your throat, You rip your waistcoat open like a fellow in a fit; And you fling them in a corner with the made-to-order coat, When you’re hit, old man--hard hit.

You throw yourself, despairing, on your narrow little bed, Or pace the room till someone starts with ‘Skit! cat!--skit!’ And then lie blindly staring at the plaster overhead-- You are hit, old man--hard hit.

It’s doubtful whether vanity or love has suffered worst, So neatly in our nature are those feelings interknit, Your heart keeps swelling up so bad, you wish that it would burst, When you’re hit, old man--hard hit.

You think and think, and think, and think, till you go mad almost; Across your sight the spectres of the bygone seem to flit; The very girl herself seems dead, and comes back as a ghost, When you’re hit, like this--hard hit.

You know that it’s all over--you’re an older man by years, In the future not a twinkle, in your black sky not a split. Ah! you’ll think it well that women have the privilege of tears, When you’re hit, old man--hard hit.

You long and hope for nothing but the rest that sleep can bring, And you find that in the morning things have brightened up a bit; But you’re dull for many evenings, with a cracked heart in a sling, When you’re hit, old man--hard hit.

O’HARA, J.P.

James Patrick O’Hara, the Justice of Peace, He bossed the P.M. and he bossed the police; A parent, a deacon, a landlord was he-- A townsman of weight was O’Hara, J.P.

He gave out the prizes, foundation-stones laid, He shone when the Governor’s visit was paid; And twice re-elected as Mayor was he-- The flies couldn’t roost on O’Hara, J.P.

Now Sandy M‘Fly, of the Axe-and-the-Saw, Was charged with a breach of the licensing law-- He sold after hours whilst talking too free On matters concerning O’Hara, J.P.

And each contradicted the next witness flat, Concerning back parlours, side-doors, and all that; ’Twas very conflicting, as all must agree-- Ye’d betther take care!’ said O’Hara, J.P.

But ‘Baby,’ the barmaid, her evidence gave-- A poor, timid darling who tried to be brave-- ‘Now, don’t be afraid--if it’s frightened ye be-- Speak out, my good girl,’ said O’Hara, J.P.

Her hair was so golden, her eyes were so blue, Her face was so fair and her words seemed so true-- So green in the ways of sweet women was he That she jolted the heart of O’Hara, J.P.

He turned to the other grave Justice of Peace, And whispered, ‘You can’t always trust the police; ‘I’ll visit the premises during the day, And see for myself,’ said O’Hara, Jay Pay. (Case postponed.)

* * * * *

’Twas early next morning, or late the same night-- ‘’Twas early next morning’ we think would be right-- And sounds that betokened a breach of the law Escaped through the cracks of the Axe-and-the-Saw.

And Constable Dogherty, out in the street, Met Constable Clancy a bit off his beat; He took him with finger and thumb by the ear, And led him around to a lane in the rear.

He pointed a blind where strange shadows were seen-- Wild pantomime hinting of revels within-- ‘We’ll drop on M‘Fly, if you’ll listen to me, And prove we are right to O’Hara, J.P.’

But Clancy was up to the lay of the land, He cautiously shaded his mouth with his hand-- ‘Wisht, man! Howld yer whisht! or it’s ruined we’ll be, It’s the justice himself--it’s O’Hara, J.P.’

They hish’d and they whishted, and turned themselves round, And got themselves off like two cats on wet ground; Agreeing to be, on their honour as men, A deaf-dumb-and-blind institution just then.

Inside on a sofa, two barmaids between, With one on his knee was a gentleman seen; And any chance eye at the keyhole could see In less than a wink ’twas O’Hara, J.P.

The first in the chorus of songs that were sung, The loudest that laughed at the jokes that were sprung, The guest of the evening, the soul of the spree-- The daddy of all was O’Hara, J.P.

And hard-cases chuckled, and hard-cases said That Baby and Alice conveyed him to bed-- In subsequent storms it was painful to see Those hard-cases side with the sinful J.P.

Next day, in the court, when the case came in sight, O’Hara declared he was satisfied quite; The case was dismissed--it was destined to be The final ukase of O’Hara, J.P.

The law and religion came down on him first-- The Christian was hard but his wife was the worst! Half ruined and half driven crazy was he-- It made an old man of O’Hara, J.P.

Now, young men who come from the bush, do you hear? Who know not the power of barmaids and beer-- Don’t see for yourself! from temptation steer free, Remember the fall of O’Hara, J.P.