"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 pa.s.s 'im the time o' day-- Gawd--bless--'im!

I'll pa.s.s '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 Chuckerb.u.t.ty, 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 G.o.d '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, G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sin' down; An' the old khansamah snorin'

On the bottle-khana floor, 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!

'Follow Me 'Ome'

There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot, Nor any o' the Guns I knew; An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died, Which is just what the best men do.

So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!

An' it's finish up your swipes an' follow me!

Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin', Follow me--follow me 'ome!

'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long, She paws the 'ole night through, An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is step, Which is just what a beast would do.

'Is girl she goes with a bombardier Before 'er month is through; An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar hooked, Which is just what a girl would do.

We fought 'bout a dog--last week it were-- No more than a round or two; But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now, Which is just what a man can't do.

'E was all that I 'ad in the way of a friend, An' I've 'ad to find one new; But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back, Which it's just too late to do.

So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!

An' it's finish off your swipes an' follow me!

Oh, 'ark to the fifes a-crawlin'!

Follow me--follow me 'ome!

Take 'im away! 'E's gone where the best men go.

Take 'im away! An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow.

Take 'im away! There's more from the place 'e come.

Take 'im away, with the limber an' the drum.

For it's "Three rounds blank" an' follow me, An' it's "Thirteen rank" an' follow me; Oh, pa.s.sin' the love o' women, Follow me--follow me 'ome!

The Sergeant's Weddin'

'E was warned agin' 'er-- That's what made 'im look; She was warned agin' 'im-- That is why she took.

'Wouldn't 'ear no reason, 'Went an' done it blind; We know all about 'em, They've got all to find!

Cheer for the Sergeant's weddin'-- Give 'em one cheer more!

Grey gun-'orses in the lando, An' a rogue is married to, etc.

What's the use o' tellin'

'Arf the lot she's been?

'E's a bloomin' robber, An' 'e keeps canteen.

'Ow did 'e get 'is buggy?

Gawd, you needn't ask!

'Made 'is forty gallon Out of every cask!

Watch 'im, with 'is 'air cut, Count us filin' by-- Won't the Colonel praise 'is Pop--u--lar--i--ty!

We 'ave scores to settle-- Scores for more than beer; She's the girl to pay 'em-- That is why we're 'ere!