Читать книгу Writ in Barracks - Wallace Edgar - Страница 4

We met without appointment on an 'ill,

I comed upon the beggar without warnin';

Layin' down be'ind a boulder,

With 'is rifle to 'is shoulder,

He sent along wot's Dutch for a 'Good-mornin'.'

'E missed me with a fair amount of skill,

An' 'fore 'e'd time to mount, an' get from danger,

I was takin' of my rest,

By a sittin' on 'is chest,

An' a sayin' to the welcome little stranger: —

'My pal, the Boer!

You're a prisoner of war'

('E tried to break my jaw, but that's a trifle);

'You can't escape me, can yer?

In the name of Rule Britannia,

I commandeer your 'orse an' Mauser rifle!'

You wouldn't call 'is manners over bright,

An' you wouldn't term 'is disposition sunny,

An' 'e 'ad a silly notion

That the cause of the commotion

Was Chamberlain a-fightin' for 'is money;

An' 'e fancied that the British flag was white —

'Twas a silly fancy – still we must excuse it,

When the Lancers came along

'E felt a trifle bong!

'E soon found out the proper way to use it!

My pal, the Boer,

Ain't used to proper war,

But tho' 'e scorns the flag an' does the grandy,

The 'igh an' mighty scorner,

When we get 'im in a corner,

'E FINDS A FLAG OF TRUCE IS MIGHTY 'ANDY!