“ Wot's the beauty of the spot,
When you're bein' drilled with shot?
Wot is Nature when you're checked for bein' dirty?
An' eternity's a blank
To a feller on the crank,
When ev'ry blessed minute seems like thirty!
Bein' punished for your deeds,
On fatig' a-pickin' weeds,
Can a bloke admire the beauties of the clover? ”

“ An' you cannot pant for wars
When you're scrubbin' barrack floors,
Or get inspired on bully-beef an' biscuit:
It requires a poet's soul
When a feller's cartin' coal
To think 'isself in danger, an' to risk it. ”

“ You're the poet of the cuss-word an' the swear,
You're the poet of the people, where the red-mapped lands extend,
You're the poet of the jungle an' the lair,
An' compare,
To the ever-speaking voice of everywhere!
There are poets wot can please you with their primrose-vi'let lays,
There are poets wot can drive a man to drink;
But it takes a 'pukka' poet, in a Patriotic Craze,
To make a chortlin' nation squirm an' shrink,
Gasp an' blink ”

“ O it's bake your own arrangements—out of flour—as you go!
When the depôt soldier's on parade 'e sparkles an' 'e shines.
When the depôt soldier's drillin' 'e must make each motion 'tell.'
When the depôt soldier's marchin' 'e must march on drill-book lines.
'E 'as got a drill-instructor, an' 'e does it very well.
But it's make your own arrangements! Make your own arrangements!
When the camp is rushed at midnight, an' you're fallin' in—to die! ”

“ Wot does the Gen'ral know? sez I;
Wot does the Gen'ral know?
'O, 'e's a Prince o' the Royal Blood, an' 'e 's on'y
got up for show!'
But I 'chanced' kit inspection, an' thought it a 'cert.';
But 'e put me down, smart, for a tunic an' shirt!
An', insult to injury—checked me for dirt!
Did Arthur!
'Ow is 'e liked by you? sez I;
'Ow is 'e liked by you?
'O, 'e's a Prince o' the Royal Blood, but I reckon
some'ow 'e'll do!'
I'm willin' to risk, as I've done before,
A Fox 'Ills fight, or a native war,
Or front rank man in an Army Corps,
With Arthur! ”

“ T. A. IN LOVE
Dreamin' of thee! Dreamin' of thee!
Sittin' with my elbow on my knee.
I orter be a polishin' the meat-dish an' the can—
(I orter draw the groceries—for I am ord'ly man!
But wot are bloomin' ration calls, an' wot's a pot or pan,
When I'm dreaming O my darlin' one, of thee?)
Dreamin' of thee! Dreamin' of thee!
Firin' at the rifle range I be.
I've missed a fust-class targit—an' I've missed the 'ill be'ind!
I nearly shot a marker once! (which wasn't very kind) ;
The orficer 'e swears at me—but re'ly, I don't mind! ”

“ Vicious cuss!
No, they don't expect intelligence from us.
You 'ave met us in the tropics, you 'ave met us in the snows;
But mostly in the Punjab an' the 'Ills.
You 'ave seen us in Mauritius, where the naughty cyclone blows.
You 'ave met us underneath a sun that kills,
An' we grills!
An' I ask you, do we fill the bloomin' bills?
Since the time when Tommy's uniform was musketoon an' wig,
There 'as always been a bloke wot 'ad a way
Of writin' of the Glory an' forgettin' the fatig',
'Oo saw 'im in 'is tunic day by day,
Smart an' gay,
An' forgot about the smallness of his pay! ”

“ We've exchanged a friendly greetin' wi' the bloke on Signal 'Ill;
We are off to Oojee-Moojee, an' we cannot be detained,
For relations dip-lo-matic 'ave become a trifle strained!
Now the King of Oojee-Moojee is a little coloured kid;
An' 'e rules some thousand niggers, an' 'e does as 'e is bid!
For the Government of England, with 'is interests in view,
'As civilised 'is country—an' collects 'is revenue!
For the King wot reigned afore 'im was an 'eathen nigger thief,
So we sent a missionary, for to teach 'im our belief. ”

“ Then our skipper very kindly did an 'andsome sort of thing,
For 'e made a proclamation that the nevvy of the King—
A funny little kiddy, with a sat-on sorter face—
Should rule the Oojee-Moojee, an' should take 'is uncle's place.
So we dressed 'im up in velvets, an' we fed 'im up on buns,
An' we gave 'is bit of buntin' a salute of twenty guns,
An' we gave to 'im a doctor for to cure 'is chills an' croups;
With a tutor, an' a gen'ral for to organise 'is troops.
So 'is tutor taught 'im manners, an' the way to part 'is 'air,
An' the gen'ral, in 'is spare time, taught 'im proper ways to sware ”

“ My kit'll sell by auction on the square;
An' other fellers will be 'formin' fours'
An' 'markin' time' in boots I used to wear.
They're welcome; but you won't forget to send
The ring an' all the letters to my——friend?
The pain ain't near so bad as wot it were
The day they dragged me from the limber wheels ”