Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated)
Page 756
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?
Open the old cigar-box — let me consider anew —
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.
Light me another Cuba — I hold to my first-sworn vows.
If Maggie will have no rival, I’ll have no Maggie for Spouse!
Big Steamers
1914-18
“Oh, where are you going to, all you Big Steamers,
With England’s own coal, up and down the salt seas?”
“We are going to fetch you your bread and your butter,
Your beef, pork, and mutton, eggs, apples, and cheese.”
“And where will you fetch it from, all you Big Steamers,
And where shall I write you when you are away?
“We fetch it from Melbourne, Quebec, and Vancouver —
Address us at Hobart, Hong-Kong, and Bombay.”
“But if anything happened to all you Big Steamers,
And suppose you were wrecked up and down the salt sea?”
“Then you’d have no coffee or bacon for breakfast,
And you’d have no muffins or toast for your tea.”
“Then I’ll pray for fine weather for all you Big Steamers,
For little blue billows and breezes so soft.”
“Oh, billows and breezes don’t bother Big Steamers,
For we’re iron below and steel-rigging aloft.”
“Then I’ll build a new lighthouse for all you Big Steamers,
With plenty wise pilots to pilot you through.”
“Oh, the Channel’s as bright as a ball-room already,
And pilots are thicker than pilchards at Looe.”
“Then what can I do for you, all you Big Steamers,
Oh, what can I do for your comfort and good?”
“Send out your big warships to watch your big waters,
That no one may stop us from bringing you food.
“For the bread that you eat and the biscuits you nibble,
The sweets that you suck and the joints that you carve,
They are brought to you daily by all us Big Steamers —
And if one hinders our coming you’ll starve!”
Bill ‘Awkins
“‘As anybody seen Bill ‘Awkins?”
“Now ‘ow in the devil would I know?”
“‘E’s taken my girl out walkin’,
An’ I’ve got to tell ‘im so —
Gawd — bless — ‘im!
I’ve got to tell ‘im so.”
“D’yer know what ‘e’s like, Bill ‘Awkins?”
“Now what in the devil would I care?”
“‘E’s the livin’, breathin’ image of an organ-grinder’s monkey,
With a pound of grease in ‘is ‘air —
Gawd — bless — ‘im!
An’ a pound o’ grease in ‘is ‘air.”
“An’ s’pose you met Bill ‘Awkins,
Now what in the devil ‘ud ye do?”
“I’d open ‘is cheek to ‘is chin-strap buckle,
An’ bung up ‘is both eyes, too —
Gawd — bless — ‘im!
An bung up ‘is both eyes, too!”
“Look ‘ere, where ‘e comes, Bill ‘Awkins!
Now, what in the devil will you say?”
“It isn’t fit an’ proper to be fightin’ on a Sunday,
So I’ll pass ‘im the time o’ day —
Gawd — bless — ‘im!
I’ll pass ‘im the time o’ day!”
“Birds of Prey” March
March! The mud is cakin’ good about our trousies.
Front! — eyes front, an’ watch the Colour-casin’s drip.
Front! The faces of the women in the ‘ouses
Ain’t the kind o’ things to take aboard the ship.
Cheer! An’ we’ll never march to victory.
Cheer! An’ we’ll never live to ‘ear the cannon roar!
The Large Birds o’ Prey
They will carry us away,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more!
Wheel! Oh, keep your touch; we’re goin’ round a corner.
Time! — mark time, an’ let the men be’ind us close.
Lord! the transport’s full, an’ ‘alf our lot not on ‘er —
Cheer, O cheer! We’re going off where no one knows.
March! The Devil’s none so black as ‘e is painted!
Cheer! We’ll ‘ave some fun before we’re put away.
‘Alt, an’ ‘and ‘er out — a woman’s gone and fainted!
Cheer! Get on! — Gawd ‘elp the married men to-day!
Hoi! Come up, you ‘ungry beggars, to yer sorrow.
(‘Ear them say they want their tea, an’ want it quick!)
You won’t have no mind for slingers, not to-morrow —
No; you’ll put the ‘tween-decks stove out, bein’ sick!
‘Alt! The married kit ‘as all to go before us!
‘Course it’s blocked the bloomin’ gangway up again!
Cheer, O cheer the ‘Orse Guards watchin’ tender o’er us,
Keepin’ us since eight this mornin’ in the rain!
Stuck in ‘eavy marchin’-order, sopped and wringin’ —
Sick, before our time to watch ‘er ‘eave an’ fall,
‘Ere’s your ‘appy ‘ome at last, an’ stop your singin’.
‘Alt! Fall in along the troop-deck! Silence all!
Cheer! For we’ll never live to see no bloomin’ victory!
Cheer! An’ we’ll never live to ‘ear the cannon roar! (One cheer more!)
The jackal an’ the kite
‘Ave an ‘ealthy appetite,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more! (‘Ip! Urroar!)
The eagle an’ the crow
They are waitin’ ever so,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more! (‘Ip! Urroar!)
Yes, the Large Birds o’ Prey
They will carry us away,
An’ you’ll never see your soldiers any more!
The Birthright
“The Propagation of Knowledge”
From “Debits and Credits” (1919-1923)
The miracle of our land’s speech — so known
And long received, none marvel when ‘tis shown!
We have such wealth as Rome at her most pride
Had not or (having) scattered not so wide;
Nor with such arrant prodigality,
Beneath her any pagan’s foot let lie...
Lo! Diamond that cost some half their days
To find and t’other half to bring to blaze:
Rubies of every heat, wherethrough we scan
The fiercer and more fiery heart of man:
Emerald that with the uplifted billow vies,
And Sapphires evening remembered skies:
Pearl perfect, as immortal tears must show,
Bred, in deep waters, of a piercing woe;
And tender Turkis, so with charms y-writ,
Of woven gold, Time dares not bite on it.
Thereafter, in all manners worked and set,
Jade, coral, amber, crystal ivories, jet, —
Showing no more than various fancies, yet
Each a Life’s token or Love’s amulet
Which things, through timeless arrogance of use,
We neither guard nor garner, but abuse;
So that our scholars — nay, our children-fling
In sport or jest treasure to arm a King;
And the gross crowd, at feast or market, hold
Traffic perforce with dust of gems and gold!
Blue Roses
The Light that Failed
Roses red and roses white
Plucked I for my love’s delight.
She would none
of all my posies —
Bade me gather her blue roses.
Half the world I wandered through,
Seeking where such flowers grew.
Half the world unto my quest
Answered me with laugh and jest.
Home I came at wintertide,
But my silly love had died
Seeking with her latest breath
Roses from the arms of Death.
It may be beyond the grave
She shall find what she would have.
Mine was but an idle quest —
Roses white and red are best!
Bobs
(Field Marshal Lord Roberts of Kandahar)
There’s a little red-faced man,
Which is Bobs,
Rides the talliest ‘orse ‘e can —
Our Bobs.
If it bucks or kicks or rears,
‘E can sit for twenty years
With a smile round both ‘is ears —
Can’t yer, Bobs?
Then ‘ere’s to Bobs Bahadur — little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
‘E’s our pukka Kandaharder —
Fightin’ Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
‘E’s the Dook of Aggy Chel;
‘E’s the man that done us well,
An’ we’ll follow ‘im to ‘ell —
Won’t we, Bobs?
If a limber’s slipped a trace,
‘Ook on Bobs.
If a marker’s lost ‘is place,
Dress by Bobs.
For ‘e’s eyes all up ‘is coat,
An’a a bugle in ‘is throat,
An’you will not play the goat
Under Bobs.
‘E’s a little down on drink
Chaplain Bobs;
But it keeps us outer Clink —
Don’t it, Bobs?
So we will not complain
Tho’ ‘e’s water on the brain,
If ‘e leads us straight again —
Blue-light Bobs.
If you stood ‘im on ‘is head,
Father Bobs,
You could spill a quart ot lead
Outer Bobs.
‘E’s been at it thirty years,
An-amassin’ soveneers
In the way o’ slugs an’ spears —
Ain’t yer Bobs?
What ‘e does not knowv o’war,
Gen’ral Bobs,
You cun arst the shop next door —
Can’t they, Bobs?
Oh, ‘e’s little but he’s wise;
‘E’s terror for’ is size:,
An’ — ‘e — does — not — advertize —
Do yer, Bobs?
Now they ‘ve made a blooimin ‘Lord
Ou ter Bobs,
Which was but ‘is fair reward —
Wheren’t it, Bobs?:
So ell wear a coronet
W’here ‘is ‘elmet used to set;
But we know you won’t forget —
Will yer, Bobs?
Then ‘ere’s to Bobs Bahadur — little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs,
Pocket-Wellin’ton ‘an arder —
Fightin’ Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
This ain’t no bloomin’ ode,
But you’ve ‘elped the soldier’s load,
An’ for benefits bestowed,
Bless yer, Bobs!
Boots
(Infantry Columns)
We’re foot — slog — slog — slog — sloggin’ over Africa —
Foot — foot — foot — foot — sloggin’ over Africa —
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up and down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!
Seven — six — eleven — five — nine-an’-twenty mile to-day —
Four — eleven — seventeen — thirty-two the day before —
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up and down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!
Don’t — don’t — don’t — don’t — look at what’s in front of you.
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up an’ down again);
Men — men — men — men — men go mad with watchin’ em,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!
Try — try — try — try — to think o’ something different —
Oh — my — God — keep — me from goin’ lunatic!
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up an’ down again!)
There’s no discharge in the war!
Count — count — count — count — the bullets in the bandoliers.
If — your — eyes — drop — they will get atop o’ you!
(Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up and down again) —
There’s no discharge in the war!
We — can — stick — out — ’unger, thirst, an’ weariness,
But — not — not — not — not the chronic sight of ‘em —
Boot — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up an’ down again,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!
‘Taint — so — bad — by — day because o’ company,
But night — brings — long — strings — o’ forty thousand million
Boots — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up an’ down again.
There’s no discharge in the war!
I — ’ave — marched — six — weeks in ‘Ell an’ certify
It — is — not — fire — devils, dark, or anything,
But boots — boots — boots — boots — movin’ up an’ down again,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!
The Bother
Clough
— The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)
Hastily Adam our driver swallowed a curse in the darkness —
Petrol nigh at end and something wrong with a sprocket
Made him speer for the nearest town, when lo! at the crossways
Four blank letterless arms the virginal signpost extended.
“Look!” thundered Hugh the Radical. “This is the England we
boast of —
Bland, white-bellied, obese, but utterly useless for business.
They are repainting the signs and have left the job in the middle.
They are repainting the signs and traffic may stop till they’ve
done it,
Which is to say: till the son-of-a-gun of a local contractor,
Having laboriously wiped out every name for
Probably thirty miles round, be minded to finish his labour!
Had not the fool the sense to paint out and paint in together?”
Thus, not seeing his speech belied his Radical Gospel
(Which is to paint out the earth and then write “Damn” on the
shutter),
Hugh embroidered the theme imperially and stretched it
From some borough in Wales through our Australian possessions,
Making himself, reformer-wise, a bit of a nuisance
Till, with the help of Adam, we cast him out on the landscape.
A Boy Scouts’Patrol Song
1913
These are our regulations —
There’s just one law for the Scout
And the first and the last, and the present and the past,
And the future and the perfect is “Look out!”
I, thou and he, look out!
We, ye and they, look out!
Though you didn’t or you wouldn’t
Or you hadn’t or you couldn’t;
You jolly well must look out!
Look out, when you start for the day
That your kit is packed to your mind;
There is no use going away
With half of it left behind.
Look out that your laces are tight,
And your boots are easy and stout,
Or you’ll end with a blister at night.
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!
Look
out for the birds of the air,
Look out for the beasts of the field —
They’ll tell you how and where
The other side’s concealed.
When the blackbird bolts from the copse,
Or the cattle are staring about,
The wise commander stops
And (chorus) All Patrols look out!
Look out when your front is clear,
And you feel you are bound to win.
Look out for your flank and your rear —
That’s where surprises begin.
For the rustle that isn’t a rat,
For the splash that isn’t a trout,
For the boulder that may be a hat
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!
For the innocent knee-high grass,
For the ditch that never tells,
Look out! Look out ere you pass —
And look out for everything else!
A sign mis-read as you run
May turn retreat to a rout —
For all things under the sun
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!
Look out when your temper goes
At the end of a losing game;
When your boots are too tight for your toes;
And you answer and argue and blame.
It’s the hardest part of the Law,
But it has to be learnt by the Scout —
For whining and shirking and “jaw”
(Chorus) All Patrols look out!
The Braggart
Mat. Prior
— The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)
Petrolio, vaunting his Mercedes’ power,
Vows she can cover eighty miles an hour.
I tried the car of old and know she can.
But dare he ever make her? Ask his man!
Bridge-Guard in the Karroo