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Soldier an’ Sailor too

1 
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! 
2 
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. 
3 
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. 
4 
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; (1)  
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! 
5 
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, (2) soldier an' sailor too! 
6 
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 (3) 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! 


(1) Long ago, a battalion of the Guards was sent to Bermuda 
as a punishment for riotous conduct in barracks. 
(2) In 1852 the Birkenhead transport was sunk off Simon's Bay. 
The Marines aboard her went down as drawn up on her deck. 
(3) Admiral Tryon's flagship, sunk in a collision in 1893.

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Shiv and the Grasshopper

Shiv, who poured the harvest and made the winds to blow,
Sitting at the doorways of a day of long ago,
Gave to each his portion, food and toil and fate,
From the King upon the guddee to the Beggar at the gate,
    All things made he—Shiva the Preserver.
    Mahadeo! Mahadeo! He made all,—
    Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine,
    And Mother’s heart for sleepy head, O little Son of mine! 

Wheat he gave to rich folk, millet to the poor,
Broken scraps for holy men that beg from door to door;
Cattle to the tiger, carrion to the kite,
And rags and bones to wicked wolves without the wall at night.
Naught he found too lofty, none he saw too low—
Parbati beside him watched them come and go;
Thought to cheat her husband, turning Shiv to jest—
Stole the little grasshopper and hid it in her breast.
    So she tricked him, Shiva the Preserver.
    Mahadeo! Mahadeo, turn and see!
    Tall are the camels, heavy are the kine,
    But this was Least of Little Things, O little Son of mine! 

When the dole was ended, laughingly she said,
‘Master, of a million mouths is not one unfed?’
Laughing, Shiv made answer, ‘All have had their part,
Even he, the little one, hidden 'neath thy heart.’
From her breast she plucked it, Parbati the thief,
Saw the Least of Little Things gnawed a new-grown leaf!
Saw and feared and wondered, making prayer to Shiv,
Who hath surely given meat to all that live!
    All things made he—Shiva the Preserver.
    Mahadeo! Mahadeo! He made all,—
    Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine, find
    Mother’s heart for sleepy head, O little Son of mine.

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Severance

Plight my troth to the dead, Love? 
  How can that be?
Youth is swift to wed love, 
  What does it matter to thee,
With the banked earth over head Love, 
  Whither our hopes are fled Love,
Where are the words we said Love,
  By the grey wind troubled sea?

Lying so silent there Love, 
  Silent, alone,
Forget the oaths we sware Love, 
  Forget that thou wast mine own,
When Life was very fair Love,
  And soul to soul lay bare Love, 
Forget that these things were Love
  Rest calm beneath the stone.

Forget the life we led Love, 
  Life's hope, Life's pain—
Our time together is fled Love,
  And only regrets remain—
Hear me from that chill bed Love, 
  Now all is finished Love,
If prayer be allowed to the dead Love, 
  Pray that we meet again—

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Sestina of the Tramp-Royal

1 
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. 
2 
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? 
3 
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. 
4 
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. 
5 
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! 
6 
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. 
7 
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!”

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Sepulchral

Swifter than aught ’neath the sun—the car of Simonides moved him.
Two things he could not out-run—Death and a Woman who loved him.

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Screw-Guns

1 
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
I walks in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule,
With seventy gunners be’ind me, an’ never a beggar forgets
It’s only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets—’Tss! ’Tss!
      For you all love the screw-guns–the screw-guns they all love you!
      So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
      Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender–it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
      You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns! 
2
They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain’t:
We’d climb up the side of a sign-board an’ trust to the stick o’ the paint:
We’ve chivied the Naga an’ Looshai, we’ve give the Afreedeeman fits,
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits—’Tss! ’Tss!
      For you all love the screw-guns . . . . 
3
If a man doesn’t work, why, we drills ’im an’ teaches ’im ’ow to behave;
If a beggar can’t march, why, we kills ’im an’ rattles ’im into ’is grave.
You’ve got to stand up to our business an’ spring without snatchin’ or fuss.
D’you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us—’Tss! ’Tss!
      For you all love the screw-guns . . . .
4
The eagles is screamin’ around us, the river’s a-moanin’ below,
We’re clear o’ the pine an’ the oak-scrub, we’re out on the rocks an’ the snow,
An’ the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains
The rattle an’ stamp o’ the lead-mules–the jinglety-jink o’ the chains—’Tss! ’Tss!
      For you all love the screw-guns . . . .
5
There’s a wheel on the Horns o’ the Mornin’, an’ a wheel on the edge o’ the Pit,
An’ a drop into nothin’ beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit:
With the sweat runnin’ out o’ your shirt-sleeves, an’ the sun off the snow in your face,
An’ ’arf o’ the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in ’er place—’Tss! ’Tss!
     For you all love the screw-guns . . . .
6
Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule.
The monkey can say what our road was–the wild-goat ’e knows where we passed.
Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin’s! Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast—’Tss! ’Tss!
      For you all love the screw-guns–the screw-guns they all love you!
      So when we take tea with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
      Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender–it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
      You may hide in the caves, they’ll be only your graves, but you can’t get away from the guns!

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Satiety

Last year's wreath upon our brow
         Withereth;
What good thing is left us now 
         After Death?
That sad Death we all must die,
         Once at least—
Pass from Love, aye utterly, 
   That we gave so much to buy
   Leave it—since in verity
         It hath ceased.

Last year's words are wearying 
         Touch us not.
Last year's songs are ill to sing 
         Half forgot,
Half remembered—profitless
         Let them be.
Twelve short months since, who could guess
   That we openly confess— 
   'We two, in our bitterness, 
         Would be free.'

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Sappers

 1  
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! 
2 
When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon,
'Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon 
   To the plans of Her Majesty's, etc. 
3 
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. 
4 
When the Tower o' Babel had mixed up men's bat,
Some clever civilian was managing that,
   An' none of, etc. 
5 
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. 
6 
When the Children of Israel made bricks without straw,
They were learnin' the regular work of our Corps,
   The work of, etc. 
7 
For ever since then, if a war they would wage,
Behold us a-shinin' on history's page - 
   First page for, etc. 
8 
We lay down their sidings an' help 'em entrain,
An' we sweep up their mess through the bloomin' campaign,
   In the style of, etc. 
9 
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. 
10 
They send us behind with a pick an' a spade,
To dig for the guns of a bullock-brigade
   Which has asked for, etc. 
11 
We work under escort in trousers and shirt,
An' the heathen they plug us tail-up in the dirt,
   Annoying, etc. 
12 
We blast out the rock an' we shovel the mud,
We make 'em good roads an' - they roll down the khud,
   Reporting, etc. 
13 
We make 'em their bridges, their wells, an' their huts,
An' the telegraph-wire the enemy cuts,
   An' it's blamed on, etc. 
14 
An' when we return, an' from war we would cease,
They grudge us adornin' the billets of peace,
   Which are kept for, etc. 
15 
We build 'em nice barracks - they swear they are bad,
That our Colonels are Methodist, married or mad,
   Insultin', etc. 
16 
They haven't no manners nor gratitude too,
For the more that we help 'em, the less will they do,
   But mock at, etc. 
17 
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. 
18 
Artillery moves by the leave o' the ground,
But we are the men that do something all round,
   For we are, etc. 
19 
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!

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Russia to the Pacifists

God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
But—leave your sports a little while—the dead are borne this way! 
Armies dead and Cities dead, past all count or care.
God rest you, merry gentlemen, what portent see you there?
         Singing:— Break ground for a wearied host
            That have no ground to keep.
            Give them the rest that they covet most . . .
            And who shall next to sleep, good sirs,
            In such a trench to sleep? 

God rest you, peaceful gentlemen, but give us leave to pass.
We go to dig a nation's grave as great as England was.
For this Kingdom and this Glory and this Power and this Pride
Three hundred years it flourished–in three hundred days it died.
        Singing:— Pour oil for a frozen throng,
            That lie about the ways.
            Give them the warmth they have lacked so long . . .
            And what shall be next to blaze, good sirs,
            On such a pyre to blaze? 

God rest you, thoughtful gentlemen, and send your sleep is light!
Remains of this dominion no shadow, sound, or sight,
Except the sound of weeping and the sight of burning fire,
And the shadow of a people that is trampled into mire.
         Singing:— Break bread for a starving folk
              That perish in the field.
              Give them their food as they take the yoke . . .
              And who shall be next to yield, good sirs,
              For such a bribe to yield? 

God rest you merry gentlemen, and keep you in your mirth!
Was ever Kingdom turned so soon to ashes, blood and earth?
'Twixt the summer and the snow-seeding-time and frost— 
Arms and victual, hope and counsel, name and country lost!
         Singing:— Let down by the foot and the head—
              Shovel and smooth it all!
              So do we bury a Nation dead . . .
              And who shall be next to fall, good sirs,
              With your good help to fall?

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Romulus and Remus

1 
Oh, little did the Wolf-Child care—
  When first he planned his home,
What city should arise and bear
  The weight and state of Rome. 
2 
A shiftless, westward-wandering tramp,
  Checked by the Tiber flood,
He reared a wall around his camp
  Of uninspired mud. 
3 
But when his brother leaped the Wall
  And mocked its height and make,
He guessed the future of it all
  And slew him for its sake. 
4 
Swift was the blow—swift as the thought
  Which showed him in that hour
How unbelief may bring to naught
  The early steps of Power. 
5 
Forseeing Time’s imperilled hopes
  Of Glory, Grace, and Love—
All singers, Cæsars, artists, Popes—
  Would fail if Remus throve, 
6 
He sent his brother to the Gods,
  And, when the fit was o’er,
Went on collecting turves and clods
  To build the Wall once more!

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