Said John Bull,--"This 'ere Kaiser's a slob, And 'is word isn't worth 'arf a bob, (If I lets Belgium suffer, I'm a blank bloomin' duffer) So 'ere goes for a crack at 'is nob." Said Italy,--"I think I'll stay out, Till I know what this row is about; It's a far better plan, Just to sell my banan', Till the issue is plain beyond doubt." Said our good uncle Samuel, "I swaow I had better keep aout of this raow, For with Mormons, and Niggers, And Greasers, I figgers I have all I kin handle just naow." THE ALLIED FORCES November, 1914 When Johnnie Bull pledges his word, To keep it he'll gird on his sword, While allies and sons Will shoulder their guns; The prince, and the peasant, and lord. First there's bold Tommy Aitkins himself, For a shilling a day of poor pelf, And for love of his King, And the fun of the thing, He fights till he's laid on the shelf. Brave Taffy is ready to go As soon as the war bugles blow; He fights like the diel, When it comes to cold steel, And dies with his face to the foe. And Donald from North Inverness, Who fights in a ballet girl's dress; He likes a free limb, No tight skirts for him, Impending his march to success. The gun runner, stern, from Belfast, Now stands at the head of the mast; If a tempest should come, Or a mine or a bomb, He will stick to his post to the last. And Hogan, that broth of a lad, Home Ruler from Bally-na-fad, Writes--"I'm now in the trench With the English and French, And we're licking the Germans, be dad!" The Cockney Canuck from Toronto, Whom Maple leaves hardly stick on to, Made haste to enlist, To fight the mailed fist, When Canadian born didn't want to. From where the wide-winged albatross Floats white 'neath the Southern Cross, There came the swift cruisers, And Germans are losers; Australians want no Kaiser boss. From sheep run, pine forest and fern, The stalwart New Zealanders turn To the land of their sires, For with ancestral fires Their bosoms in ardor still burn. The tall, turbanned, heathen Hindoo Is proud to be in the game too, For the joy of his life, Is to help in the strife Of the sahibs, and see the war through. The Frenchman who made wooden shoes, While airing his Socialist views, Deserted his bench For the horrible trench, As soon as he heard the war news. The wild, woolly, grinning, Turco, From where the fierce desert winds blow, Will give up his life In the thick of the strife, And go where the good niggers go.