Dear Madam, you have seen this play;
I never saw it till today.
You know the details of the plot,
Hail, soldier, huddled in the rain,
Hail, soldier, squelching through the mud,
Hail, soldier, sick of dirt and pain,
Go slow, you raving ****, go slow,
And do not cut your corners so;
For there's a citizen ahead
There'll always be a Hitler
Beside the silver Spree
If Germans are such silly sheep
The doctor took my shirt away;
He did it for the best;
He said, 'It's very cold today,'
June, gentle June, of whom the crooners croon,
Sweet month of silk, of salmon, and the swoon;
June, what a chance you had—to be your best,
They took the maid; they took the cook as well:
Mamma said 'Splendid! Give the Germans——!
The two small daughters did the housework now;
Honour the 'neutral' Irishman with weapons in his hand—
The men who made the Mulberries—the men who hate the Huns.
Seneca—Solon—Caesar or Cicero—
Take any old and noble name you know,
Denounce the dead, spray poison in the home-
You still will not remind us much of Rome.
(With respectful reference to the admirable exploit of Petty
Officer Alan Baker, of L .B .V. 37)
The Bluebell was a lighter, a dumb barge, a box,
For to lighten the ships in the stream and the docks;
But she weren't very big, and she weren't very new,
And she lay on the barge-roads with nothing to do.