What is a woman that you forsake her, And the hearth-fire and the home-acre, To go with the old grey Widow-maker?
For 'im that doth not work must surely die; But that's no reason man should labour all 'Is life on one same shift—life's none so long.
We pulled for you when the wind was against us and the sails were low. Will you never let us go?
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke; And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart, Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves "It's pretty, but is it Art?"
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, And the women come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to your rifle an' blow out your brains An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
'How far is St. Helena from an Emperor of France?' I cannot see—I cannot tell—the Crowns they dazzle so. The Kings sit down to dinner, and the Queens stand up to dance. (After open weather you may look for snow!)
So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan; You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin' man; An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead of 'air— You big black boundin' beggar—for you broke a British square!
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!