Verses 1889-1896. Rudyard 1865-1936 KiplingЧитать онлайн книгу.
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For “drunk and resisting the Guard.”
I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer,
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here.
'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt;
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock
and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt.
I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road,
And Lord knows where, and I don't care, my belt and my tunic goed;
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I used to wear,
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I think he'll keep it there!
My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack-yard,
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room—it's that that cuts so hard. I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain, But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll do it again! With a second-hand overcoat under my head, And a beautiful view of the yard, Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. For “drunk and resisting the Guard!” Mad drunk and resisting the Guard— 'Strewth, but I socked it them hard! So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. For “drunk and resisting the Guard.”
GUNGA DIN
You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was “Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao! Water, get it! Panee lao! [Bring water swiftly.] You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.” The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, For a piece o' twisty rag An' a goatskin water-bag Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. When the sweatin' troop-train lay In a sidin' through the day, Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, We shouted “Harry By!” [Mr. Atkins's equivalent for “O brother.”] Till our throats were bricky-dry, Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. It was “Din! Din! Din! You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? You put some juldee in it [Be quick.] Or I'll marrow you this minute [Hit you.] If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!” 'E would dot an' carry one Till the longest day was done; An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. If we charged or broke or cut, You could bet your bloomin' nut, 'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. With 'is mussick on 'is back, [Water-skin.] 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made “Retire”, An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! It was “Din! Din! Din!” With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green. When the cartridges ran out, You could hear the front-files shout, “Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!” I shan't forgit the night When I dropped be'ind the fight With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been. I was chokin' mad with thirst, An' the man that spied me first Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din. 'E lifted up my 'ead, An' he plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: It was crawlin' and it stunk, But of all the drinks I've drunk, I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. It was “Din! Din! Din! 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 'E's chawin' up the ground, An' 'e's kickin' all around: For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!” 'E carried me away To where a dooli lay, An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 'E put me safe inside, An' just before 'e died, “I 'ope you liked your drink”, sez Gunga Din. So I'll meet 'im later on At the place where 'e is gone— Where it's always double drill and no canteen; 'E'll be squattin' on the coals Givin' drink to poor damned souls, An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! Yes, Din! Din! Din! You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! Though I've belted you and flayed you, By the livin' Gawd that made you, You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
OONTS
(Northern India Transport Train)
Wot makes the soldier's 'eart to penk, wot makes 'im to perspire?
It isn't standin' up to charge nor lyin' down to fire;
But it's everlastin' waitin' on a everlastin' road
For the commissariat camel an' 'is commissariat load.
O the oont*, O the oont, O the commissariat oont!
With 'is silly neck a-bobbin' like a basket full o' snakes;
We packs 'im like an idol, an' you ought to 'ear 'im grunt,
An' when we gets 'im loaded up 'is blessed girth-rope breaks.
* Camel:—oo is pronounced like u in “bull”, but by Mr. Atkins to rhyme with “front”. Wot makes the rear-guard swear so 'ard when night is drorin' in, An' every native follower is shiverin' for 'is skin? It ain't the chanst o' being rushed by Paythans from the 'ills, It's the commissariat camel puttin' on 'is bloomin' frills! O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont! A-trippin' over tent-ropes when we've got the night alarm! We socks 'im with a stretcher-pole an' 'eads 'im off in front, An' when we've saved 'is bloomin' life 'e chaws our bloomin' arm. The 'orse 'e knows above a bit, the bullock's but a fool, The elephant's a gentleman, the battery-mule's a mule; But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an' done, 'E's a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan-child in one. O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont! The lumpy-'umpy 'ummin'-bird a-singin' where 'e lies, 'E's blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front, An' when we get him up again—the beggar goes an' dies! 'E'll gall an' chafe an' lame an' fight—'e smells most awful vile; 'E'll lose 'isself for ever if you let 'im stray a mile; 'E's game to graze the 'ole day long an' 'owl the 'ole night through, An' when 'e comes to greasy ground 'e splits 'isself in two. O the oont, O the oont, O the floppin', droppin' oont! When 'is long legs give from under an' 'is meltin' eye is dim, The tribes is up be'ind us, and the tribes is out in front— It ain't no jam for Tommy, but it's kites an' crows for 'im. So when the cruel march is done, an' when the roads is blind, An' when we sees the camp in front an' 'ears the shots be'ind, Ho! then we strips 'is saddle off, and all 'is woes is past: 'E thinks on us that used 'im so, and gets revenge at last. O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin', bloatin' oont! The late lamented camel in the water-cut 'e lies; We keeps a mile be'ind 'im an' we keeps a mile in front, But 'e gets into the drinkin'-casks, and then o' course we dies.
LOOT
If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back,
If you've ever snigged