Читать книгу Song of the Dardanelles and Other Verses - Henry Lawson - Страница 6

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Atall, slight, English gentleman,

With an eyeglass to his eye;

He mostly says “Good-Bai” to you,

When he means to say “Good-bye”;

He shakes hands like a ladies’ man,

For all the world to see—

But they know, in Corners of the World.

No ladies’ man is he.

A tall, slight English gentleman,

Who hates to soil his hands;

He takes his mother’s drawing-room

To the most outlandish lands;

And when, through Hells we dream not of,

His battery prevails,

He cleans the grime of gunpowder

And blue blood from his nails.

He’s what our blokes in Egypt call

“A decent kinder cove.”

And if the Pyramids should fall?

He’d merely say “Bai Jove!”

And if the stones should block his path

For a twelve-month, or a day,

He’d call on Sergeant Whatsisname

To clear those things away!

A quiet English gentleman,

Who dots the Empire’s rim,

Where sweating sons of ebony

Would go to Hell for him.

And if he chances to get “winged,”

Or smashed up rather worse,

He’s quite apologetic to

The doctor and the nurse.

A silent English gentleman—

Though sometimes he says “Haw.”

But if a baboon in its cage

Appealed to British Law

And Justice, to be understood,

He’d listen all polite,

And do his very best to set

The monkey grievance right.

A thoroughbred whose ancestry

Goes back to ages dim;

Yet no one on his wide estates

Need fear to speak to him.

Although he never showed a sign

Of aught save sympathy,

He was the only gentleman

That shamed the cad in me.

Interlude