was
     pleasin’ things abed,
‘N’ he shuddered in his shimmy if they passed
     him with the dead. 
When he cried about his mother, in a gentle
     voice he’d tell
Them as dumb-well didn’t like it they could go
     to sudden ’ell.

There was nothin’ sweet for Willie in a rough-
     up in the wet;
But if all things scared him purple, not a thing
     had stopped him yet. 
If some chaps was wanted urgent special dirty
     work to do
Willie went in with a shudder, but he alwiz
     saw it through. 
Oh, a busy little body was our Willie in a
     crush! 
Then he’d cry out in the night about the faces
     in the slush.

Well they pinked him one fine mornin’ with
     a thumpin’ ’unk iv shell;
Put it in ‘n’ all across him.  What he was
     you couldn’t tell. 
I saw him stitched ‘n’ mended where he
     whimpered in his bed,
‘N’ he’d on’y lived because he was afraid to
     die, he said. 
Sez he “Struth, they’re out there fightin’,
     trimmin’ Boshes good ‘n’ smart,
While I’m bedded here ‘n’ ’elpless.  It fair
     breaks a feller’s ’eart.”

But he came again last Tuesday ‘-n’ we go it
     in a breath—­
“London’s big ‘n’ black ‘n’ noisy.  It would
     scare a bloke to death.” 
He’s away now in the trenches, white ‘n’
     nervous, but, you bet,
Playin’ lovely ’ands of poker with his busy
     bay-o-net,
‘Fraid of givin’ ‘n’ of takin’, ’fraid of gases,
     ’fraid of guns—­
But a champion lightweight terror to the gor-
     forsaken ’Uns!

BILLJIM

Down to it is Plugger Bill,
Lyin’ crumpled, white ‘n’ still. 
     Me ‘n’ him
Chips in when the scrap begins,
Carin’ nothin’ for our skins,
Chi-iked as the ’Eavenly Twins-
     Bill ‘n’ Jim.

They ’ave outed Bill at last,
Slugged me cobber hard ‘n’ fast. 
     It’s a kill. 
See the purple of his lip
‘N’ the red ‘n’ oozy drip! 
Ends our great ole partnership-
     Jim ‘n’ Bill

Mates we was when we was kids;
Camp, ‘n’ ship, ‘n’ Pyramids,
     Him ‘n’ me
Hung together, ‘n’ we tore
Up the heights from Helles shore,
Bill a long ’arf head afore,
     Fine to see!

Then it was we took a touch-
Simple puncture, nothin’ much;
     But we lay
‘N’ we stays the count, it seems,
In a sorter realm of dreams
Where the sun infernal gleams
     Night ‘n’ day;

Boilin’, fryin’ achin’, dumb,
Waitin’ till the stretchers come,
     Patiently. 
I hangs on to ’arf a cup. 
Which I wants ole Bill to sup. 
Damn if he ain’t savin’ up
     His for me!

When they come to lift my head
I am softly kiddin’ dead,
     For a game,
So’s they’ll first take on his gills. 
Over, though, me scheme he spills-
Bli’me, this ole take-down Bill’s
     Done the same!