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 banquets,

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-darn1 passin' down;
An' the old khansamah2 snorin'
On the bottle-khana3 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!

'Cigar-lighter.

*Butler.

'Pantry.

'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 up 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.
An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow.
There's more from the place 'e come.
Take 'im away, with the limber an' the drum.

Take 'im away!
Take 'im away!

For it's "Three rounds blank" an' follow me,
An' it's "Thirteen rank" an' follow me;
Oh, passin' 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' 'imThat 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!

See the Chaplain thinkin'?

See the women smile? Twig the married winkin' As they take the aisle? Keep your side-arms quiet, Dressin' by the Band. Ho! You 'oly beggars, Cough be'ind your 'and!

Now it's done an' over, 'Ear the organ squeak, "Voice that breathed o'er Eden"— Ain't she got the cheek! White an' laylock ribbons, Think yourself so fine! I'd pray Gawd to take yer 'Fore I made yer mine!

Escort to the kerridge,

Wish 'im luck, the brute!
Chuck the slippers after—
[Pity 't ain't a boot!]
Bowin' like a lady,

Blushin' like a lad

'Oo would say to see 'em

Both is rotten bad?

Cheer for the Sergeant's weddin'

Give 'em one cheer more!

Grey gun-'orses in the lando,

An' a rogue is married to, etc.