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"

(In the Lodge 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 must n'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 did n'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 did n'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 must n't swear an' curse, or you'll only catch it

worse,

And 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!

WE'V

CHOLERA CAMP

(Infantry in India)

E'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 can not 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!"

"T would 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 are n'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 CatholicksHe 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 does n'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 can not 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,1
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 might n'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;

1 Head-groom.