A Little Braid o' Blonde

I WENT INTO a public ‘ouse to 'ave a pint o’ stout,
the barmaid turned and smiled at me, which really knocked me out;
A braid as blonde as winter wheat, hung along 'er nape,
And when she bent to fill my glass, I scanned 'er lovely shape.

Now don’t you get the wrong idea, I’m far beyond my prime;
This buxom lass wi' soft blue eyes, could scant be ten and nine:
THO' 'OPE is but a foolish bird, and fantasy's a trance--
Still my 'heart beats palpably, as though it 'ad a chance.