I served my time for a corp’ral,
      An’ wetted my stripes with pop,
    For I went on the bend with a intimate friend,
      An’ finished the night in the ‘shop.’ 
    I served my time for a sergeant;
      The colonel ’e sez ’No! 
    The most you’ll see is a full C. B.’[Footnote:  Confined to barracks.]
      An’...very next night ’twas so.

Chorus.

    Ho! don’t you go for a corp’ral
      Unless your ’ed is clear;
    But I was an ass when I was at grass,
      An’ that is why I’m ’ere.

    I’ve tasted the luck o’ the army
      In barrack an’ camp an’ clink,
    An’ I lost my tip through the bloomin’ trip
      Along o’ the women an’ drink. 
    I’m down at the heel o’ my service
      An’ when I am laid on the shelf,
    My very wust friend from beginning to end
      By the blood of a mouse was myself!

Chorus.

    Ho! don’t you ’eed what a girl says,
      An’ don’t you go for the beer;
    But I was an ass when I was at grass,
      An’ that is why I’m ’ere.

‘Ay, listen to our little man now, singin’ an’ shoutin’ as tho’ trouble had niver touched him.  D’you remember when he went mad with the home-sickness?’ said Mulvaney, recalling a never-to-be-forgotten season when Ortheris waded through the deep waters of affliction and behaved abominably.  ‘But he’s talkin’ bitter truth, though.  Eyah!

   ‘My very worst frind from beginnin’ to ind
    By the blood av a mouse was mesilf!’

When I woke I saw Mulvaney, the night-dew gemming his moustache, leaning on his rifle at picket, lonely as Prometheus on his rock, with I know not what vultures tearing his liver.

ON GREENHOW HILL

To Love’s low voice she lent a careless ear;
Her hand within his rosy fingers lay,
A chilling weight.  She would not turn or hear;
But with averted face went on her way. 
But when pale Death, all featureless and grim,
Lifted his bony hand, and beckoning
Held out his cypress-wreath, she followed him,
And Love was left forlorn and wondering,
That she who for his bidding would not stay,
At Death’s first whisper rose and went away. 

          
                                                      Rivals.

’Ohe, Ahmed Din!  Shafiz Ullah ahoo!  Bahadur Khan, where are you?  Come out of the tents, as I have done, and fight against the English.  Don’t kill your own kin!  Come out to me!’

The deserter from a native corps was crawling round the outskirts of the camp, firing at intervals, and shouting invitations to his old comrades.  Misled by the rain and the darkness, he came to the English wing of the camp, and with his yelping and rifle-practice disturbed the men.  They had been making roads all day, and were tired.

Ortheris was sleeping at Learoyd’s feet.  ‘Wot’s all that?’ he said thickly.  Learoyd snored, and a Snider bullet ripped its way through the tent wall.  The men swore.  ‘It’s that bloomin’ deserter from the Aurangabadis,’ said Ortheris.  ‘Git up, some one, an’ tell ’im ’e’s come to the wrong shop.’