“Yet close we lie, and deep we lie, and if I gave him place, My gentlemen that are so proud would flout me to my face; They'd call my house a common stews and me a careless host, And--I would not anger my gentlemen for the sake of a shiftless ghost.” The Devil he looked at the mangled Soul that prayed to feel the flame, And he thought of Holy Charity, but he thought of his own good name:-- “Now ye could haste my coal to waste, and sit ye down to fry: Did ye think of that theft for yourself?” said he; and Tomlinson said, “Ay!” The Devil he blew an outward breath, for his heart was free from care:-- “Ye have scarce the soul of a louse,” he said, “but the roots of sin are there, And for that sin should ye come in were I the lord alone. But sinful pride has rule inside--and mightier than my own. “Honour and Wit, fore-damned they sit, to each his priest and whore: Nay, scarce I dare myself go there, and you they'd torture sore. “Ye are neither spirit nor spirk,” he said; “ye are neither book nor brute-- Go, get ye back to the flesh again for the sake of Man's repute. “I'm all o'er-sib to Adam's breed that I should mock your pain, But look that ye win to worthier sin ere ye come back again. Get hence, the hearse is at your door--the grim black stallions wait-- They bear your clay to place today. Speed, lest ye come too late! Go back to Earth with a lip unsealed--go back with an open eye, And carry my word to the Sons of Men or ever ye come to die: That the sin they do by two and two they must pay for one by one-- And... the God that you took from a printed book be with you, Tomlinson!” * * * * * * * BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS Dedication To T. A. I have made for you a song, And it may be right or wrong, But only you can tell me if it's true; I have tried for to explain Both your pleasure and your pain, And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you! O there'll surely come a day When they'll give you all your pay, And treat you as a Christian ought to do; So, until that day comes round, Heaven keep you safe and sound, And, Thomas, here's my best respects to you! --R. K. DANNY DEEVER “What are the bugles blowin' for?” said Files-on-Parade. “To turn you out, to turn you out”, the Colour-Sergeant said. “What makes you look so white, so white?” said Files-on-Parade. “I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch”, the Colour-Sergeant said. For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play, The regiment's in 'ollow square--they're hangin' him today; They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes away, An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'. “What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?” said Files-on-Parade.