The Works of Rudyard Kipling Part 24

But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll, The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too, But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints, Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints; While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind", But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind, There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind, O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all: We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.

Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"

But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot; An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please; An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool--you bet that Tommy sees!

FUZZY-WUZZY (Soudan Expeditionary Force)

We've fought with many men acrost the seas, An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not: The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese; But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.

We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im: 'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim, An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-cla.s.s fightin' man; We gives you your certificate, an' if you want it signed We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're inclined.

We took our chanst among the Khyber 'ills, The Boers knocked us silly at a mile, The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills, An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style: But all we ever got from such as they Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller; We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say, But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller.

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid; Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went an' did.

We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair; But for all the odds agin' you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square.

'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own, 'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, So we must certify the skill 'e's shown In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords: When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush With 'is coffin-'eaded s.h.i.+eld an' shovel-spear, An 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush Will last an 'ealthy Tommy for a year.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which are no more, If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore; But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair, For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!

'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive, An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead; 'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive, An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead.

'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb!

'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree, 'E's the on'y thing that doesn't give a d.a.m.n For a Regiment o' British Infantree!

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-cla.s.s fightin' man; An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air-- You big black boundin' beggar--for you broke a British square!

SOLDIER, SOLDIER

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, Why don't you march with my true love?"

"We're fresh from off the s.h.i.+p an' 'e's maybe give the slip, An' you'd best go look for a new love."

New love! True love!

Best go look for a new love, The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes, An' you'd best go look for a new love.

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, What did you see o' my true love?"

"I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green, An' you'd best go look for a new love."

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, Did ye see no more o' my true love?"

"I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly-- But you'd best go look for a new love."

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, Did aught take 'arm to my true love?"

"I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white-- An' you'd best go look for a new love."

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, I'll up an' tend to my true love!"

"'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead, An' you'd best go look for a new love."

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, I'll down an' die with my true love!"

"The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im-- An' you'd best go look for a new love."

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, Do you bring no sign from my true love?"

"I bring a lock of 'air that 'e allus used to wear, An' you'd best go look for a new love."

"Soldier, soldier come from the wars, O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!"

"An' I tell you truth again--when you've lost the feel o' pain You'd best take me for your true love."

True love! New love!

Best take 'im for a new love, The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes, An' you'd best take 'im for your true love.

SCREW-GUNS

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!

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...

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 s.n.a.t.c.hin' or fuss.

D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns?

By G.o.d, you must lather with us--'Tss! 'Tss!

For you all love the screw-guns...

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...

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 s.h.i.+rt-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...

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 pa.s.sed.

Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's!

Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast--'Tss! 'Tss!