Yes, lay the jharun coats aside, Likewise my snow-white trews, And bring me forth my sober tweeds More fit for Autumn use. And ope for me the bottled beer That once I used to shun. Who dares to hint at 'liver' now The summer days are done? Within the deep verandah's shade There lurks a form I know, It is the punkah-pulling fiend Hi! Juldee chuti do Noor Ahmed! chase him from my sight, That evil form and brown. And recollect, ere I return, Have all the punkahs down. A necessary evil he, And somnolent withal, Who snored through fifty steamy nights, Nor wakened at my call. But stay—my soul is filled with peace, E'en towards my Aryan neighbours— Eight annas shall be his beyond The pittance of his labours. Fresh faces at the Band appear— Apace the station fills— And half a hundred friends return From half a hundred hills. Yea, straightway to the Club will I, (Though worldly prudence frown) And drink in driest Monopole My toast:—'The punkah's down.'