30
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.
The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.
I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.
35
I will scent ’em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.
For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o’ Teen.
And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,
40
But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;
And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.
And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o’-the-Wisp of Love.
45
Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
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;
50
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!
The Winners
What is the moral? Who rides may read.
When the night is thick and the tracks are blind
A friend at a pinch is a friend indeed,
But a fool to wait for the laggard behind.
5
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
White hands cling to the tightened rein,
Slipping the spur from the booted heel,
Tenderest voices cry ‘Turn again!’
10
Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel.
High hopes faint on a warm hearth-stone –
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
One may fall, but he falls by himself –
Falls by himself with himself to blame.
15
One may attain and to him is pelf,
Loot of the city in Gold or Fame.
Plunder of earth shall be all his own
Who travels the fastest and travels alone.
Wherefore the more ye be holpen and stayed,
20
Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil,
Sing the heretical song I have made –
His be the labour and yours be the spoil.
Win by his aid, and the aid disown –
He travels the fastest who travels alone!
‘I have eaten your bread and salt’
I have eaten your bread and salt.
I have drunk your water and wine.
The deaths ye died I have watched beside,
And the lives ye led were mine.
5
Was there aught that I did not share
In vigil or toil or ease, –
One joy or woe that I did not know,
Dear hearts across the seas?
I have written the tale of our life
10
For a sheltered people’s mirth,
In jesting guise – but ye are wise,
And ye know what the jest is worth.
Danny Deever
‘What are the bugles blowin’ for?’ said Files-on-Parade.
‘To turn you out, to turn you out,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
‘What makes you look so white, so white?’ said Files-on-Parade.
‘I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
5
For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,
The Regiment’s in ’ollow square – they’re hangin’ ’im to-day;
They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut ’is stripes away,
An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
‘What makes the rear-rank breathe so ’ard?’ said Files-on-Parade.
10
‘It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
‘What makes that front-rank man fall down?’ said Files-on-Parade.
‘A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round,
They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;
15
An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound –
Oh, they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!
‘’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,’ said Files-on-Parade.
‘’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
‘I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,’ said Files-on Parade.
20
‘’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,
For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’ – you must look ’im in the face;
Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace,
While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.
25
‘What’s that so black agin the sun?’ said Files-on Parade.
‘It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
‘What’s that that whimpers over’ead?’ said Files-on-Parade.
‘It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear the quick-step play,
30
The Regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;
Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want their beer to-day,
After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!
Tommy
I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’ beer,
The publican ’e up an’ sez, ‘We serve no red-coats ’ere.’
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed and giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again, an’ to myself sez I:
5
Oh, 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,
Oh, it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
10
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ’adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-’alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, wait outside’;
But it’s ‘Special train for Atkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide –
15
The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide,
Oh, it’s ‘Special train for Atkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide.
Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
20
Is five times b
etter business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, ’ow’s yer soul?’
But it’s ‘Thin red line of ’eroes’ when the drums begin to roll –
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
Oh, it’s ‘Thin red line of ’eroes’ when the drums begin to roll.
25
We aren’t no thin red ’eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, fall be’ind,’
30
But it’s ‘Please to walk in front, sir,’ when there’s trouble in the wind –
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
Oh, it’s ‘Please to walk in front, sir,’ when there’s trouble in the wind.
You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all:
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
35
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’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;
40
An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool – you bet that Tommy sees!
Private Ortheris’s Song
My girl she give me the go onest,
When I was a London lad;
An’ I went on the drink for a fortnight,
An’ then I went to the bad.
5
The Queen she give me a shillin’
To fight for ’er over the seas;
But Guv’ment built me a fever-trap,
An’ Injia give me disease.
(Chorus) Ho! don’t you ’eed what a girl says,
10
An’ don’t you go for the beer;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An’ that is why I’m ’ere.
I fired a shot at a Afghan,
The beggar ’e fired again,
15
An’ I lay on my bed with a ’ole in my ’ed,
An’ missed the next campaign!
I up with my gun at a Burman
Who carried a bloomin’ dah,
But the cartridge stuck and the bay’nit bruk,
20
An’ all I got was the scar.
(Chorus) Ho! don’t you aim at a Afghan,
When you stand on the skyline clear;
An’ don’t you go for a Burman
If none o’ your friends is near.
25
I served my time for a Corp’ral,
An’ wetted my stripes with pop,
For I went on the bend with a intimate friend,
An’ finished the night in the ‘shop’.
I served my time for a Sergeant;
30
The Colonel ’e sez ‘No!
The most you’ll see is a full C.B.’
An’ … very next night ’twas so!
(Chorus) Ho! don’t you go for a Corp’ral
Unless your ’ed is clear;
35
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An’ that is why I’m ’ere.
I’ve tasted the luck o’ the Army
In barrack an’ camp an’ clink,
An’ I lost my tip through the bloomin’ trip
40
Along o’ the women an’ drink.
I’m down at the heel o’ my service,
An’ when I am laid on the shelf,
My very worst friend from beginning to end
By the blood of a mouse was myself!
45
(Chorus) Ho! don’t you ’eed what a girl says,
An’ don’t you go for the beer;
But I was an ass when I was at grass,
An’ that is why I’m ’ere!
Soldier, Soldier
‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Why don’t you march with my true love?’
‘We’re fresh from off the ship an’ ’e’s, maybe, give the slip,
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’
5
New love! True love!
Best go look for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an’ you’d better dry your eyes,
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.
‘Soldier, soldier, come from the wars,
10
What did you see o’ my true love?’
‘I seen ’im serve the Queen in a suit o’ rifle-green,
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’
‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did ye see no more o’ my true love?’
15
‘I seen ’im runnin’ by when the shots begun to fly –
But you’d best go look for a new love.’
‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did aught take ’arm to my true love?’
‘I couldn’t see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white –
20
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’
‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I’ll up an’ tend to my true love!’
‘’E’s lying on the dead with a bullet through ’is ’ead,
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’
25
‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I’ll down an’ die with my true love!’
‘The pit we dug’ll ’ide ’im an’ the twenty more beside ’im –
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’
‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
30
Do you bring no sign from my true love?’
‘I bring a lock of ’air that ’e allus used to wear,
An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’
‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Oh, then I know it’s true I’ve lost my true love!’
35
‘An’ I tell you truth again – when you’ve lost the feel o’ pain
You’d best take me for your new love.’
True love! New love!
Best take ’im for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, so you’d better dry your eyes,
40
An’ you’d best take ’im for your new love!
The Widow at Windsor
’Ave you ’eard o’ the Widow at Windsor
With a hairy gold crown on ’er ’ead?
She ’as ships on the foam – she ’as millions at ’ome,
An’ she pays us poor beggars in red.
5
(Ow, poor beggars in red!)
There’s ’er nick on the cavalry ’orses,
There’s ’er mark on the medical stores –
An’ ’er troopers you’ll find with a fair wind be’ind
Selected Poems Page 4