Songs Of The Road. Артур Конан Дойл

Very dignified and prim

                Till they hear the Jezails rattle;

           Cattle thieves of yesterday,

                Now the wardens of the cattle,

           Fighting Brahmins of Lahore,

                Curly whiskered sons of battle.

           Up the winding mountain path

                See the long-drawn column go;

           Himalayan aftermath

                Lying rosy on the snow.

           Motley ministers of wrath

                Building better than they know,

           In the rosy aftermath

                Trailing upward to the snow.

      THE GROOM'S ENCORE

(Being a Sequel to "The Groom's Story" in "Songs of Action")

           Not tired of 'earin' stories! You're a nailer,

                   so you are!

           I thought I should 'ave choked you off with

                   that 'ere motor-car.

           Well, mister, 'ere's another; and, mind you,

                   it's a fact,

           Though you'll think perhaps I copped it

                   out o' some blue ribbon tract.

           It was in the days when farmer men were

                   jolly-faced and stout,

           For all the cash was comin' in and little

                   goin' out,

           But now, you see, the farmer men are

                   'ungry-faced and thin,

           For all the cash is goin' out and little

                   comin' in.

           But in the days I'm speakin' of, before

                   the drop in wheat,

           The life them farmers led was such as

                   couldn't well be beat;

           They went the pace amazin', they 'unted

                   and they shot,

           And this 'ere Jeremiah Brown the liveliest

                   of the lot.

           'E was a fine young fellar; the best roun'

                   'ere by far,

           But just a bit full-blooded, as fine young

                   fellars are;

           Which I know they didn't ought to, an' it's

                   very wrong of course,

           But the colt wot never capers makes a

                   mighty useless 'orse.

           The lad was never vicious, but 'e made the

                   money go,

           For 'e was ready with 'is "yes," and back-

                   ward with 'is "no."

           And so 'e turned to drink which is the

                   avenoo to 'ell,

           An' 'ow 'e came to stop 'imself is wot' I

                   'ave to tell.

           Four days on end 'e never knew 'ow 'e 'ad

                   got to bed,

           Until one mornin' fifty clocks was tickin'

                   in 'is 'ead,

           And on the same the doctor came, "You're

                   very near D.T.,

           If you don't stop yourself, young chap,

                   you'll pay the price," said 'e.

           "It takes the form of visions, as I fear

                   you'll quickly know;

           Perhaps a string o' monkeys, all a-sittin' in

                   a row,

           Perhaps it's frogs or beetles, perhaps it's

                   rats or mice,

           There  are  many  sorts   of visions and

                   there's none of 'em is nice."

           But Brown 'e started laughin': "No

                   doctor's muck," says 'e,

           "A take-'em-break-'em gallop is the only

                   cure for me!

           They 'unt to-day down 'Orsham way.

                   Bring round the sorrel mare,

           If them monkeys come inquirin' you can

                   send 'em on down there."

           Well, Jeremiah rode to 'ounds, exactly as

                   'e said.

           But all the time the doctor's words were

                   ringin' in 'is 'ead —

           "If you don't stop yourself, young chap,

                   you've got to pay the price,

           There are many sorts of visions, but none

                   of 'em is nice."

           They found that day at Leonards Lee and

                   ran to Shipley Wood,

           'Ell-for-leather all  the way, with scent

                   and weather good.

           Never a check to 'Orton Beck and on

                   across the Weald,

           And all the way the Sussex clay was weed-

                   in' out the field.

           There's not a man among them could

                   remember such a run,

           Straight as a rule to Bramber Pool and on

                   by Annington,

           They followed   still  past  Breeding   'ill