Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/468

450 For 'e's eyes all up 'is coat,

An' a bugle in 'is throat,

An' you will not play the goat

Under Bobs.

'E's a little down on drink

Chaplain Bobs;

But it keeps us outer Clink—

Don't it, Bobs?

So we will not complain

Tho' 'e's water on the brain,

If 'e leads us straight again—

Blue-light Bobs.

If you stood 'im on 'is head,

Father Bobs,

You could spill a quart of lead

Outer Bobs.

'E's been at it thirty years,

An-amassin' souveneers

In the way o' slugs an' spears—

Ain't yer Bobs?

What 'e does not know o' war,

Gen'ral Bobs,

You can arst the shop next door—

Can't they, Bobs?

Oh, 'e's little but he's wise;

'E's terror for 'is size,

An'—'e—does—not—advertize—

Do yer, Bobs?

Now they've made a bloomin' Lord

Outer Bobs,

Which was but 'is fair reward—

Weren't it, Bobs?