Page:Departmental Ditties and Ballads and Barrack-Room Ballads, Kipling, 1899.djvu/372

188 If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loth

To shoot when you catch 'em—you'll swing, on my oath!—

Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,

An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.

Curse, curse, curse o' a soldier...

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,

Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,

Be thankful you're livin', an trust to your luck

And march to your front like a soldier.

Front, front, front like a soldier...

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,

Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;

She's human as you are—you treat her as sich,

An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.

Fight, fight, fight for the soldier...

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,

The guns o' the enemy wheel into line;

Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,

For noise never startles the soldier.

Start-, start-, startles the soldier...