At times when under cover I ’ave said, To keep my spirits up an’ raise a laugh, ’Earin’ ’im pass so busy over-’ead-- Old Nickel Neck, ’oo isn’t on the Staff-- ‘_There’s one above is greater than us all_.’ Before ’im I ’ave seen my Colonel fall, An’ watched ’im write my Captain’s epitaph, So that a long way off it could be read-- He _’as_ the knack o’ makin’ men feel small-- Old Whistle Tip, ’oo isn’t on the Staff. There is no sense in fleein’ (I ’ave fled), Better go on an’ do the belly-crawl, An’ ’ope ’e’ll ’it some other man instead Of you ’e seems to ’unt so speshual-- Fitzy van Spitz, ’oo isn’t on the Staff. An’ thus in mem’ry’s gratis biograph, Now that the show is over, I recall The peevish voice an’ ’oary mushroom ’ead Of ’im we owned was greater than us all, ’Oo give instruction to the quick an’ the dead-- The Shudderin’ Beggar not upon the Staff. BOOTS [Page 88] (INFANTRY COLUMNS OF THE EARLIER WAR) We’re foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin’ over Africa! Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin’ over Africa-- (Boots--boots--boots--boots, movin’ up and down again!) There’s no discharge in the war! Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an’-twenty mile to-day-- Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before-- (Boots--boots--boots--boots, movin’ up and down again!) There’s no discharge in the war! Don’t--don’t--don’t--don’t--look at what’s in front of you (Boots--boots--boots--boots, movin’ up an’ down again); Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin’ ’em, An’ there’s no discharge in the war. Try--try--try--try--to think o’ something different-- Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin’ lunatic! (Boots--boots--boots--boots, movin’ up an’ down again!) There’s no discharge in the war. Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers; If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o’ you (Boots--boots--boots--boots, movin’ up and down again)-- There’s no discharge in the war! We--can--stick--out--’unger, thirst, an’ weariness, But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of ’em-- Boots--boots--boots--boots, movin’ up an’ down again, An’ there’s no discharge in the war! ’Tain’t--so--bad--by--day because o’ company, But night--brings--long--strings o’ forty thousand million Boots--boots--boots--boots, movin’ up an’ down again. There’s no discharge in the war! I--’ave--marched--six--weeks in ’Ell an’ certify It--is--not--fire--devils dark or anything But boots--boots--boots, movin’ up an’ down again, An’ there’s no discharge in the war! THE MARRIED MAN [Page 91] (RESERVIST OF THE LINE)