With its best foot first.

And the road a-sliding past,

An' every blooming campin'-ground exactly like the

last;

While the Big Drum says,

With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!"—

"Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?”

Oh, there's them Injian temples to admire when you see. There's the peacock round the corner an' the monkey up the

tree,

An' there's that rummy silver-grass a-wavin' in the wind, An' the old Grand Trunk a-trailin' like a rifle-sling be'ind. While it's best foot first,

At half-past five's Revelly, an' our tents they down must

come,

Like a lot of button-mushrooms when you pick 'em up at

'ome.

But it's over in a minute, an' at six the column starts,

While the women and the kiddies sit an' shiver in the carts. An it's best foot first,

Oh, then it's open order, an' we lights our pipes an' sings,
An' we talks about our rations an' a lot of other things,
An' we thinks o' friends in England, an' we wonders what
they're at,

An' 'ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat.2

An' it's best foot first,

It's none so bad o' Sundays, when you're lyin' at your ease, To watch the kites a-wheelin' round them feather-'eaded

trees,

Why don't you get on? 'Language. Thomas's first and firmest conviction is that he is a profound Orientalist and a fluent speaker of Hindustani. As a matter of fact, he depends largely on the sign-language.

For although there ain't no women, yet there ain't no barrick-
yards,

So the officers goes shootin' an' the men they plays at cards.
Till it's best foot first,

So 'ark an' 'eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin' sore,
There's worser things than marchin' from Umballa to Cawn-

pore;

An' if your 'eels are blistered an' they feels to 'urt like 'ell, You drop some tallow in your socks an' that will make 'em well.

We're marchin' on relief over Injia's coral strand,

Eight 'undred fightin' Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band;
Ho! get away you bullock-man, you've 'eard the bugle
blowed,

There's a regiment a-comin' down the Grand Trunk Road;
With its best foot first

And the road a-sliding past,

An' every bloomin' campin'-ground exactly like the
last;

While the Big Drum says,

With 'is "rowdy-dowdy-dow!"—

"Kiko kissywarsti don't you hamsher argy jow?"

SHILLIN'A DAY

MY NAME is O'Kelly, I've heard the Revelly
From Birr to Bareilly, from Leeds to Lahore,

Hong-Kong and Peshawur.

Lucknow and Etawah,

And fifty-five more all endin' in "pore."

Black Death and his quickness, the depth and the thickness,
Of sorrow and sickness I've known on my way,

But I'm old and I'm nervis,

1

I'm cast from the Service,

And all I deserve is a shillin' a day.

(Chorus) Shillin' a day,

Bloomin' good pay

Lucky to touch it, a shillin' a day!

Oh, it drives me half crazy to think of the days I
Went slap for the Ghazi, my sword at my side,
When we rode Hell-for-leather

Both squadrons together,

That didn't care whether we lived or we died.
But it's no use despairin', my wife must go charin'
An' me commissairin', the pay-bills to better,
So if me you be'old

In the wet and the cold,

By the Grand Metropold won't you give me a letter?

(Full chorus) Give 'im a letter

'Can't do no better,

Late Troop-Sergeant-Major an'-runs with

a letter!

Think what 'e's been,

Think what 'e's seen.

Think of his pension an'

GAWD SAVE THE QUEEN!

"BACK TO THE ARMY AGAIN"

I'M 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at,

A-layin' on to the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat; My shirt's doin' duty for jacket, my sock's stickin' out o' my boots,

An' I'm learnin' the damned old goose-step along o' the new recruits!

Back to the Army again, sergeant,

Back to the Army again.

Don't look so 'ard, for I 'aven't no card,
I'm back to the Army again!

I done my six years' service. 'Er Majesty sez: "Good dayYou'll please to come when you're rung for, an' 'ere's your 'ole back-pay;

An' four-pence a day for baccy-an' bloomin' gen'rous, too; An' now you can make your fortune the same as your orf'cers do."

Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.

'Ow did I learn to do right-about-turn?
I'm back to the Army again!

A man o' four-an'-twenty that 'asn't learned of a trade—
Beside "Reserve" agin' him-'e'd better be never made.
I tried my luck for a quarter, an' that was enough for me,
An' I thought of 'Er Majesty's barricks, an' I thought I'd
go an' see.

Back to the Army again, sergeant,

Back to the Army again.

'T isn't my fault if I dress when I ’alt—

I'm back to the Army again!

The sergeant arst no questions, but 'e winked the other eye, 'E sez to me, "Shun!" an' I shunted, the same as in days

gone by;

For 'e saw the set o' my shoulders, an' I couldn't 'elp 'oldin' straight

When me an' the other rookies come under the barrick-gate.

Back to the Army again, sergeant
Back to the Army again.

'Oo would ha' thought I could carry an' port?1
I'm back to the Army again!

I took my bath, an' I wallered-for, Gawd, I needed it so! I smelt the smell o' the barricks, I 'eard the bugles go.

I 'eard the feet on the gravel-the feet o' the men what drill

An' I sez to my flutterin' 'eart-strings, I sez to 'em, “Peace, be still!"

Back to the Army again, sergeant,

Back to the Army again.

'Oo said I knew when the troopship was due?

I'm back to the Army again!

I carried my slops to the tailor; I sez to 'im, "None o' your lip!

You tight 'em over the shoulders, an' loose 'em over the 'ip, For the set o' the tunic's 'orrid." An' 'e sez to me, "Strike

me dead,

But I thought you was used to the business!" an' so 'e done what I said.

Back to the Army again, sergeant,

Back to the Army again.

Rather too free with my fancies? Wot-me?

I'm back to the Army again!

Next week I'll 'ave 'em fitted; I'll buy me a swagger-cane; They'll let me free o' the barricks to walk on the Hoe again In the name o' William Parsons, that used to be Edward Clay, An' any pore beggar that wants it can draw my fourpence a day!