We poor lads, 't is our turn now Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad." Why, if 't is dancing you would be, There's brisker pipes than poetry. Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: To see the world as the world's not. I was I, my things were wet, 20 30 40 The better for the embittered hour; 60 There was a king reigned in the East: Them it was their poison hurt. LIONEL JOHNSON (1867-1902) OXFORD NIGHTS 70 To Victor Plarr About the august and ancient Square, O rare divinity of Night! Season of undisturbed delight: Glad interspace of day and day! 10 Without, an world of winds at play: Within, I hear what dead friends say. Blow, winds! and round that perfect Dome, 20 30 Wail as you will, and sweep, and roam: I hear Beau Tibbs discuss a lord. wrath; 40 Bramble's pleasant 60 Nor lives there, beneath Oxford towers, RUDYARD KIPLING (1865- > TOMMY 71 I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no redcoats here." The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die, I outs into the street again, an' to myself sez I: O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy go away"; But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play, The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play. We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow's uniform is not the soldierman's disgrace. For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!" But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot; An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -you bet that Tommy sees! FUZZY-WUZZY (Soudan Expeditionary Force) 40 We've fought with many men acrost the seas, An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not: The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese; But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot. We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im: 'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim, An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces. So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Sowdan; 9 You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; We gives you your certifikit, an' if you want it signed We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined. We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills, The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, The Burman guv us Irriwaddy chills, an' fires, an' all: An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: 'E's the on'y thing that doesn't care a damn For the Regiment o' British Infantree. So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Sowdan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air You big black boundin' beggarfor you bruk a British square. GUNGA DIN The bhisti, or water-carrier, attached to regiments in India, is often one of the most devoted of the Queen's servants. He is also appreciated by the men. You may talk o' gin an' beer When you're quartered safe out 'ere, An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; But if it comes to slaughter You will do your work on water, An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. Now in Injia's sunny clime, Where I used to spend my time Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. 10 I sha'n't forgit the night I was chokin' mad with thirst, 'E lifted up my 'ead, An' 'e plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: It was crawlin' an it stunk, But of all the drinks I've drunk, 40 An' just before 'e died: 70 |