An' now it's “'Oo goes backward?” an' now it's “'Oo comes on?” And now it's “Get the doolies,” an' now the captain's gone; An' now it's bloody murder, but all the while they 'ear 'Is voice, the same as barrick drill, a-shepherdin' the rear. 'E's just as sick as they are, 'is 'eart is like to split, But 'e works 'em, works 'em, works 'em till he feels 'em take the bit; The rest is 'oldin' steady till the watchful bugles play, An' 'e lifts 'em, lifts 'em, lifts 'em through the charge that wins the day! The 'eathen in 'is blindness bows down to wood an' stone; 'E don't obey no orders unless they is 'is own; The 'eathen in 'is blindness must end where 'e began, But the backbone of the Army is the non-commissioned man! Keep away from dirtiness--keep away from mess. Don't get into doin' things rather-more-or-less! Let's ha' done with abby-nay, kul, an' hazar-ho; Mind you keep your rifle an' yourself jus' so! The Shut-Eye Sentry Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant To the Senior Orderly Man: “Our Orderly Orf'cer's hokee-mut, You 'elp 'im all you can. For the wine was old and the night is cold, An' the best we may go wrong, So, 'fore 'e gits to the sentry-box, You pass the word along.” So it was “Rounds! What Rounds?” at two of a frosty night, 'E's 'oldin' on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your eye. An' it was “Pass! All's well!” Oh, ain't 'e drippin' tight! 'E'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by. The moon was white on the barricks, The road was white an' wide, An' the Orderly Orf'cer took it all, An' the ten-foot ditch beside. An' the corporal pulled an' the sergeant pushed, An' the three they danced along, But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box, So I didn't see nothin' wrong. Though it was “Rounds! What Rounds?” O corporal, 'old 'im up! 'E's usin' 'is cap as it shouldn't be used, but, sentry, shut your eye. An' it was “Pass! All's well!” Ho, shun the foamin' cup! 'E'll need, etc. 'Twas after four in the mornin'; We 'ad to stop the fun, An' we sent 'im 'ome on a bullock-cart, With 'is belt an' stock undone; But we sluiced 'im down an' we washed 'im out, An' a first-class job we made, When we saved 'im, smart as a bombardier, For six-o'clock parade. It 'ad been “Rounds! What Rounds?” Oh, shove 'im straight again! 'E's usin' 'is sword for a bicycle, but, sentry, shut your eye. An' it was “Pass! All's well!” 'E's called me “Darlin' Jane”! 'E'll need, etc.