Verses 1889-1896
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SESTINA OF THE TRAMP-ROYAL
Speakin’ in general, I ‘ave tried ‘em all, The ‘appy roads that take you o’er the world. Speakin’ in general, I ‘ave found them good For such as cannot use one bed too long, But must get ‘ence, the same as I ‘ave done, An’ go observin’ matters till they die. What do it matter where or ‘ow we die, So long as we’ve our ‘ealth to watch it all — The different ways that different things are done, An’ men an’ women lovin’ in this world — Takin’ our chances as they come along, An’ when they ain’t, pretendin’ they are good? In cash or credit – no, it aren’t no good; You ‘ave to ‘ave the ‘abit or you’d die, Unless you lived your life but one day long, Nor didn’t prophesy nor fret at all, But drew your tucker some’ow from the world, An’ never bothered what you might ha’ done. But, Gawd, what things are they I ‘aven’t done? I’ve turned my ‘and to most, an’ turned it good, In various situations round the world — For ‘im that doth not work must surely die; But that’s no reason man should labour all ‘Is life on one same shift; life’s none so long. Therefore, from job to job I’ve moved along. Pay couldn’t ‘old me when my time was done, For something in my ‘ead upset me all, Till I ‘ad dropped whatever ‘twas for good, An’, out at sea, be’eld the dock-lights die, An’ met my mate – the wind that tramps the world! It’s like a book, I think, this bloomin’ world, Which you can read and care for just so long, But presently you feel that you will die Unless you get the page you’re readin’ done, An’ turn another – likely not so good; But what you’re after is to turn ‘em all. Gawd bless this world! Whatever she ‘ath done — Excep’ when awful long – I’ve found it good. So write, before I die, “‘E liked it all!”BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS
“BACK TO THE ARMY AGAIN”
I’m ‘ere in a ticky ulster an’ a broken billycock ‘at, A-layin’ on to the sergeant I don’t know a gun from a bat; My shirt’s doin’ duty for jacket, my sock’s stickin’ out o’ my boots, An’ I’m learnin’ the damned old goose-step along o’ the new recruits! Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again. Don’t look so ‘ard, for I ‘aven’t no card, I’m back to the Army again! I done my six years’ service. ‘Er Majesty sez: “Good-day — You’ll please to come when you’re rung for, an’ ‘ere’s your ‘ole back-pay; An’ fourpence a day for baccy – an’ bloomin’ gen’rous, too; An’ now you can make your fortune – the same as your orf’cers do.” Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again; ‘Ow did I learn to do right-about turn? I’m back to the Army again! A man o’ four-an’-twenty that ‘asn’t learned of a trade — Beside “Reserve” agin’ him – ‘e’d better be never made. I tried my luck for a quarter, an’ that was enough for me, An’ I thought of ‘Er Majesty’s barricks, an’ I thought I’d go an’ see. Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again; ‘Tisn’t my fault if I dress when I ‘alt — I’m back to the Army again! The sergeant arst no questions, but ‘e winked the other eye, ‘E sez to me, “‘Shun!” an’ I shunted, the same as in days gone by; For ‘e saw the set o’ my shoulders, an’ I couldn’t ‘elp ‘oldin’ straight When me an’ the other rookies come under the barrick-gate. Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again; ‘Oo would ha’ thought I could carry an’ port? I’m back to the Army again! I took my bath, an’ I wallered – for, Gawd, I needed it so! I smelt the smell o’ the barricks, I ‘eard the bugles go. I ‘eard the feet on the gravel – the feet o’ the men what drill — An’ I sez to my flutterin’ ‘eart-strings, I sez to ‘em, “Peace, be still!” Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again; ‘Oo said I knew when the Jumner was due? I’m back to the Army again! I carried my slops to the tailor; I sez to ‘im, “None o’ your lip! You tight ‘em over the shoulders, an’ loose ‘em over the ‘ip, For the set o’ the tunic’s ‘orrid.” An’ ‘e sez to me, “Strike me dead, But I thought you was used to the business!” an’ so ‘e done what I said. Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again. Rather too free with my fancies? Wot – me? I’m back to the Army again! Next week I’ll ‘ave ‘em fitted; I’ll buy me a swagger-cane; They’ll let me free o’ the barricks to walk on the Hoe again In the name o’ William Parsons, that used to be Edward Clay, An’ – any pore beggar that wants it can draw my fourpence a day! Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again: Out o’ the cold an’ the rain, sergeant, Out o’ the cold an’ the rain. ‘Oo’s there? A man that’s too good to be lost you, A man that is ‘andled an’ made — A man that will pay what ‘e cost you In learnin’ the others their trade – parade! You’re droppin’ the pick o’ the Army Because you don’t ‘elp ‘em remain, But drives ‘em to cheat to get out o’ the street An’ back to the Army again!“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!“SOLDIER AN’ SAILOR TOO”
As I was spittin’ into the Ditch aboard o’ the Crocodile, I seed a man on a man-o’-war got up in the Reg’lars’ style. ‘E was scrapin’ the paint from off of ‘er plates, an’ I sez to ‘im, “‘Oo are you?” Sez ‘e, “I’m a Jolly – ‘Er Majesty’s Jolly – soldier an’ sailor too!” Now ‘is work begins by Gawd knows when, and ‘is work is never through; ‘E isn’t one o’ the reg’lar Line, nor ‘e isn’t one of the crew. ‘E’s a kind of a giddy harumfrodite – soldier an’ sailor too! An’ after I met ‘im all over the world, a-doin’ all kinds of things, Like landin’ ‘isself with a Gatlin’ gun to talk to them ‘eathen kings; ‘E sleeps in an ‘ammick instead of a cot, an’ ‘e drills with the deck on a slew, An’ ‘e sweats like a Jolly – ‘Er Majesty’s Jolly – soldier an’ sailor too! For there isn’t a job on the top o’ the earth the beggar don’t know, nor do — You can leave ‘im at night on a bald man’s ‘ead, to paddle ‘is own canoe — ‘E’s a sort of a bloomin’ cosmopolouse – soldier an’ sailor too. We’ve fought ‘em in trooper, we’ve fought ‘em in dock, and drunk with ‘em in betweens, When they called us the seasick scull’ry-maids, an’ we called ‘em the Ass Marines; But, when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich to Bernardmyo, We sent for the Jollies – ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies – soldier an’ sailor too! They think for ‘emselves, an’ they steal for ‘emselves, and they never ask what’s to do, But they’re camped an’ fed an’ they’re up an’ fed before our bugle’s blew. Ho! they ain’t no limpin’ procrastitutes – soldier an’ sailor too. You may say we are fond of an ‘arness-cut, or ‘ootin’ in barrick-yards, Or startin’ a Board School mutiny along o’ the Onion Guards; But once in a while we can finish in style for the ends of the earth to view, The same as the Jollies – ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies – soldier an’ sailor too! They come of our lot, they was brothers to us; they was beggars we’d met an’ knew; Yes, barrin’ an inch in the chest an’ the arm, they was doubles o’ me an’ you; For they weren’t no special chrysanthemums – soldier an’ sailor too! To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about, Is nothing so bad when you’ve cover to ‘and, an’ leave an’ likin’ to shout; But to stand an’ be still to the Birken’ead drill is a damn tough bullet to chew, An’ they done it, the Jollies – ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies — soldier an’ sailor too! Their work was done when it ‘adn’t begun; they was younger nor me an’ you; Their choice it was plain between drownin’ in ‘eaps an’ bein’ mopped by the screw, So they stood an’ was still to the Birken’ead drill, soldier an’ sailor too! We’re most of us liars, we’re ‘arf of us thieves, an’ the rest are as rank as can be, But once in a while we can finish in style (which I ‘ope it won’t ‘appen to me). But it makes you think better o’ you an’ your friends, an’ the work you may ‘ave to do, When you think o’ the sinkin’ Victorier’s Jollies – soldier an’ sailor too! Now there isn’t no room for to say ye don’t know — they ‘ave proved it plain and true — That whether it’s Widow, or whether it’s ship, Victorier’s work is to do, An’ they done it, the Jollies – ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies — soldier an’ sailor too!SAPPERS
When the Waters were dried an’ the Earth did appear, (“It’s all one,” says the Sapper), The Lord He created the Engineer, Her Majesty’s Royal Engineer, With the rank and pay of a Sapper! When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon, ‘Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon To the plans of Her Majesty’s, etc. But after fatigue in the wet an’ the sun, Old Noah got drunk, which he wouldn’t ha’ done If he’d trained with, etc. When the Tower o’ Babel had mixed up men’s bat, Some clever civilian was managing that, An’ none of, etc. When the Jews had a fight at the foot of a hill, Young Joshua ordered the sun to stand still, For he was a Captain of Engineers, etc. When the Children of Israel made bricks without straw, They were learnin’ the regular work of our Corps, The work of, etc. For ever since then, if a war they would wage, Behold us a-shinin’ on history’s page — First page for, etc. We lay down their sidings an’ help ‘em entrain, An’ we sweep up their mess through the bloomin’ campaign, In the style of, etc. They send us in front with a fuse an’ a mine To blow up the gates that are rushed by the Line, But bent by, etc. They send us behind with a pick an’ a spade, To dig for the guns of a bullock-brigade Which has asked for, etc. We work under escort in trousers and shirt, An’ the heathen they plug us tail-up in the dirt, Annoying, etc. We blast out the rock an’ we shovel the mud, We make ‘em good roads an’ – they roll down the khud, Reporting, etc. We make ‘em their bridges, their wells, an’ their huts, An’ the telegraph-wire the enemy cuts, An’ it’s blamed on, etc. An’ when we return, an’ from war we would cease, They grudge us adornin’ the billets of peace, Which are kept for, etc. We build ‘em nice barracks – they swear they are bad, That our Colonels are Methodist, married or mad, Insultin’, etc. They haven’t no manners nor gratitude too, For the more that we help ‘em, the less will they do, But mock at, etc. Now the Line’s but a man with a gun in his hand, An’ Cavalry’s only what horses can stand, When helped by, etc. Artillery moves by the leave o’ the ground, But we are the men that do something all round, For we are, etc. I have stated it plain, an’ my argument’s thus (“It’s all one,” says the Sapper), There’s only one Corps which is perfect – that’s us; An’ they call us Her Majesty’s Engineers, Her Majesty’s Royal Engineers, With the rank and pay of a Sapper!THAT DAY
It got beyond all orders an’ it got beyond all ‘ope; It got to shammin’ wounded an’ retirin’ from the ‘alt. ‘Ole companies was lookin’ for the nearest road to slope; It were just a bloomin’ knock-out – an’ our fault! Now there ain’t no chorus ‘ere to give, Nor there ain’t no band to play; An’ I wish I was dead ‘fore I done what I did, Or seen what I seed that day! We was sick o’ bein’ punished, an’ we let ‘em know it, too; An’ a company-commander up an’ ‘it us with a sword, An’ some one shouted “‘Ook it!” an’ it come to sove-ki-poo, An’ we chucked our rifles from us – O my Gawd! There was thirty dead an’ wounded on the ground we wouldn’t keep — No, there wasn’t more than twenty when the front begun to go; But, Christ! along the line o’ flight they cut us up like sheep, An’ that was all we gained by doin’ so. I ‘eard the knives be’ind me, but I dursn’t face my man, Nor I don’t know where I went to, ‘cause I didn’t ‘alt to see, Till I ‘eard a beggar squealin’ out for quarter as ‘e ran, An’ I thought I knew the voice an’ – it was me! We was ‘idin’ under bedsteads more than ‘arf a march away; We was lyin’ up like rabbits all about the countryside; An’ the major cursed ‘is Maker ‘cause ‘e lived to see that day, An’ the colonel broke ‘is sword acrost, an’ cried. We was rotten ‘fore we started – we was never disciplined; We made it out a favour if an order was obeyed; Yes, every little drummer ‘ad ‘is rights an’ wrongs to mind, So we had to pay for teachin’ – an’ we paid! The papers ‘id it ‘andsome, but you know the Army knows; We was put to groomin’ camels till the regiments withdrew, An’ they gave us each a medal for subduin’ England’s foes, An’ I ‘ope you like my song – because it’s true! An’ there ain’t no chorus ‘ere to give, Nor there ain’t no band to play; But I wish I was dead ‘fore I done what I did, Or seen what I seed that day!“THE MEN THAT FOUGHT AT MINDEN”
A Song of Instruction The men that fought at Minden, they was rookies in their time — So was them that fought at Waterloo! All the ‘ole command, yuss, from Minden to Maiwand, They was once dam’ sweeps like you! Then do not be discouraged, ‘Eaven is your ‘elper, We’ll learn you not to forget; An’ you mustn’t swear an’ curse, or you’ll only catch it worse, For we’ll make you soldiers yet! The men that fought at Minden, they ‘ad stocks beneath their chins, Six inch ‘igh an’ more; But fatigue it was their pride, and they would not be denied To clean the cook-’ouse floor. The men that fought at Minden, they had anarchistic bombs Served to ‘em by name of ‘and-grenades; But they got it in the eye (same as you will by-an’-by) When they clubbed their field-parades. The men that fought at Minden, they ‘ad buttons up an’ down, Two-an’-twenty dozen of ‘em told; But they didn’t grouse an’ shirk at an hour’s extry work, They kept ‘em bright as gold. The men that fought at Minden, they was armed with musketoons, Also, they was drilled by ‘alberdiers; I don’t know what they were, but the sergeants took good care They washed be’ind their ears. The men that fought at Minden, they ‘ad ever cash in ‘and Which they did not bank nor save, But spent it gay an’ free on their betters – such as me — For the good advice I gave. The men that fought at Minden, they was civil – yuss, they was — Never didn’t talk o’ rights an’ wrongs, But they got it with the toe (same as you will get it – so!) — For interrupting songs. The men that fought at Minden, they was several other things Which I don’t remember clear; But that’s the reason why, now the six-year men are dry, The rooks will stand the beer! Then do not be discouraged, ‘Eaven is your ‘elper, We’ll learn you not to forget; An’ you mustn’t swear an’ curse, or you’ll only catch it worse, For we’ll make you soldiers yet! Soldiers yet, if you’ve got it in you — All for the sake of the Core; Soldiers yet, if we ‘ave to skin you — Run an’ get the beer, Johnny Raw – Johnny Raw! Ho! run an’ get the beer, Johnny Raw!CHOLERA CAMP
We’ve got the cholerer in camp – it’s worse than forty fights; We’re dyin’ in the wilderness the same as Isrulites; It’s before us, an’ be’ind us, an’ we cannot get away, An’ the doctor’s just reported we’ve ten more to-day! Oh, strike your camp an’ go, the Bugle’s callin’, The Rains are fallin’ — The dead are bushed an’ stoned to keep ‘em safe below; The Band’s a-doin’ all she knows to cheer us; The Chaplain’s gone and prayed to Gawd to ‘ear us — To ‘ear us — O Lord, for it’s a-killin’ of us so! Since August, when it started, it’s been stickin’ to our tail, Though they’ve ‘ad us out by marches an’ they’ve ‘ad us back by rail; But it runs as fast as troop-trains, and we cannot get away; An’ the sick-list to the Colonel makes ten more to-day. There ain’t no fun in women nor there ain’t no bite to drink; It’s much too wet for shootin’, we can only march and think; An’ at evenin’, down the nullahs, we can ‘ear the jackals say, “Get up, you rotten beggars, you’ve ten more to-day!” ‘Twould make a monkey cough to see our way o’ doin’ things — Lieutenants takin’ companies an’ captains takin’ wings, An’ Lances actin’ Sergeants – eight file to obey — For we’ve lots o’ quick promotion on ten deaths a day! Our Colonel’s white an’ twitterly – ‘e gets no sleep nor food, But mucks about in ‘orspital where nothing does no good. ‘E sends us ‘eaps o’ comforts, all bought from ‘is pay — But there aren’t much comfort ‘andy on ten deaths a day. Our Chaplain’s got a banjo, an’ a skinny mule ‘e rides, An’ the stuff ‘e says an’ sings us, Lord, it makes us split our sides! With ‘is black coat-tails a-bobbin’ to Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-ay! ‘E’s the proper kind o’ padre for ten deaths a day. An’ Father Victor ‘elps ‘im with our Roman Catholicks — He knows an ‘eap of Irish songs an’ rummy conjurin’ tricks; An’ the two they works together when it comes to play or pray; So we keep the ball a-rollin’ on ten deaths a day. We’ve got the cholerer in camp – we’ve got it ‘ot an’ sweet; It ain’t no Christmas dinner, but it’s ‘elped an’ we must eat. We’ve gone beyond the funkin’, ‘cause we’ve found it doesn’t pay, An’ we’re rockin’ round the Districk on ten deaths a day! Then strike your camp an’ go, the Rains are fallin’, The Bugle’s callin’! The dead are bushed an’ stoned to keep ‘em safe below! An’ them that do not like it they can lump it, An’ them that cannot stand it they can jump it; We’ve got to die somewhere – some way – some’ow — We might as well begin to do it now! Then, Number One, let down the tent-pole slow, Knock out the pegs an’ ‘old the corners – so! Fold in the flies, furl up the ropes, an’ stow! Oh, strike – oh, strike your camp an’ go! (Gawd ‘elp us!)THE LADIES
I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it; I’ve rogued an’ I’ve ranged in my time; I’ve ‘ad my pickin’ o’ sweet’earts, An’ four o’ the lot was prime. One was an ‘arf-caste widow, One was a woman at Prome, One was the wife of a jemadar-sais, [Head-groom.] An’ one is a girl at ‘ome. Now I aren’t no ‘and with the ladies, For, takin’ ‘em all along, You never can say till you’ve tried ‘em, An’ then you are like to be wrong. There’s times when you’ll think that you mightn’t, There’s times when you’ll know that you might; But the things you will learn from the Yellow an’ Brown, They’ll ‘elp you a lot with the White! I was a young un at ‘Oogli, Shy as a girl to begin; Aggie de Castrer she made me, An’ Aggie was clever as sin; Older than me, but my first un — More like a mother she were — Showed me the way to promotion an’ pay, An’ I learned about women from ‘er! Then I was ordered to Burma, Actin’ in charge o’ Bazar, An’ I got me a tiddy live ‘eathen Through buyin’ supplies off ‘er pa. Funny an’ yellow an’ faithful — Doll in a teacup she were, But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair, An’ I learned about women from ‘er! Then we was shifted to Neemuch (Or I might ha’ been keepin’ ‘er now), An’ I took with a shiny she-devil, The wife of a nigger at Mhow; ‘Taught me the gipsy-folks’ bolee; [Slang.] Kind o’ volcano she were, For she knifed me one night ‘cause I wished she was white, And I learned about women from ‘er! Then I come ‘ome in the trooper, ‘Long of a kid o’ sixteen — Girl from a convent at Meerut, The straightest I ever ‘ave seen. Love at first sight was ‘er trouble, She didn’t know what it were; An’ I wouldn’t do such, ‘cause I liked ‘er too much, But – I learned about women from ‘er! I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it, An’ now I must pay for my fun, For the more you ‘ave known o’ the others The less will you settle to one; An’ the end of it’s sittin’ and thinkin’, An’ dreamin’ Hell-fires to see; So be warned by my lot (which I know you will not), An’ learn about women from me! What did the Colonel’s Lady think? Nobody never knew. Somebody asked the Sergeant’s wife, An’’ she told ‘em true! When you get to a man in the case, They’re like as a row of pins — For the Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy O’Grady Are sisters under their skins!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!”THE MOTHER-LODGE
There was Rundle, Station Master, An’ Beazeley of the Rail, An’ ‘Ackman, Commissariat, An’ Donkin’ o’ the Jail; An’ Blake, Conductor-Sargent, Our Master twice was ‘e, With ‘im that kept the Europe-shop, Old Framjee Eduljee. Outside – “Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!” Inside – “Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ‘arm. We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square, An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there! We’d Bola Nath, Accountant, An’ Saul the Aden Jew, An’ Din Mohammed, draughtsman Of the Survey Office too; There was Babu Chuckerbutty, An’ Amir Singh the Sikh, An’ Castro from the fittin’-sheds, The Roman Catholick! We ‘adn’t good regalia, An’ our Lodge was old an’ bare, But we knew the Ancient Landmarks, An’ we kep’ ‘em to a hair; An’ lookin’ on it backwards It often strikes me thus, There ain’t such things as infidels, Excep’, per’aps, it’s us. For monthly, after Labour, We’d all sit down and smoke (We dursn’t give no banquits, Lest a Brother’s caste were broke), An’ man on man got talkin’ Religion an’ the rest, An’ every man comparin’ Of the God ‘e knew the best. So man on man got talkin’, An’ not a Brother stirred Till mornin’ waked the parrots An’ that dam’ brain-fever-bird; We’d say ‘twas ‘ighly curious, An’ we’d all ride ‘ome to bed, With Mo’ammed, God, an’ Shiva Changin’ pickets in our ‘ead. Full oft on Guv’ment service This rovin’ foot ‘ath pressed, An’ bore fraternal greetin’s To the Lodges east an’ west, Accordin’ as commanded From Kohat to Singapore, But I wish that I might see them In my Mother-Lodge once more! I wish that I might see them, My Brethren black an’ brown, With the trichies smellin’ pleasant An’ the hog-darn passin’ down; [Cigar-lighter.] An’ the old khansamah snorin’ [Butler.] On the bottle-khana floor, [Pantry.] Like a Master in good standing With my Mother-Lodge once more! Outside – “Sergeant! Sir! Salute! Salaam!” Inside – “Brother”, an’ it doesn’t do no ‘arm. We met upon the Level an’ we parted on the Square, An’ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother-Lodge out there!