Page:Departmental Ditties and Ballads and Barrack-Room Ballads, Kipling, 1899.djvu/342

158 An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains

The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules—the jinglety-jink o' the chains—'Tss! 'Tss!

For you all love the screw-guns, etc.

There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit,

An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit:

With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an' the sun off the snow in your face,

An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in 'er place—'Tss! 'Tss!

For you all love the screw-guns, etc.

Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,

I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule.

The monkey can say what our road was—the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed.

Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast—'Tss! Tss.'