Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/207

Rh ''Oh, I look at you now and I think, my lad, ''Was it you, young Jones, was it you?

“Hullo, young Smith, with your well-fed look And your coat of dapper fit, Will you recommend me a decent book With nothing of War in it?” Then you smile as you polish a finger-nail, And your eyes serenely roam, And you suavely hand me a thrilling tale By a man who stayed at home.

''“Was it you, young Smith, was it you I saw ''In the battle’s storm and stench, ''With a roar of rage and a wound red-raw ''Leap into the reeking trench? ''As you stood like a fiend on the firing-shelf ''And you stabbed and hacked and slew.… ''Oh, I look at you and I ask myself, ''Was it you, young Smith, was it you?

“Hullo, old Brown, with your ruddy cheek And your tummy’s rounded swell, Your garden’s looking jolly ''chic And your kiddies awf’ly well. Then you beam at me in your cheery way As you swing your water-can; And you mop your brow and you blithely say: ‘What about golf, old man?’

''“Was it you, old Brown, was it you I saw Like a bull-dog stick to your gun,