The Ballad of East and West
The Last Suttee
The Ballad of the King’s Mercy
The Ballad of the King’s Jest
The Ballad of Boh Da Thone
The Lament of the Border Cattle Thief
The Rhyme of the Three Captains
The Ballad of the “Clampherdown”
The Ballad of the “Bolivar”
The English Flag
Cleared
An Imperial Rescript
Tomlinson
Danny Deever
Tommy
Fuzzy-Wuzzv
Soldier, Soldier
Screw-Guns
Gunga Din
Oonts
Loot
“Snarleyow”
The Widow at Windsor
Belts
The Young British Soldier
Mandalay
Troopin’
Ford O’ Kabul River
Route-Marchin’
I have eaten your bread and salt,
I have drunk your water and wine,
The deaths ye died I have watched beside,
And the lives that ye led were mine.
Was there aught that I did not share
In vigil or toil or ease,
One joy or woe that I did not know,
Dear hearts across the seas?
I have written the tale of our life
For a sheltered people’s mirth,
In jesting guise—but ye are wise,
And ye know what the jest is worth.
We are very slightly changed
From the semi-apes who ranged
India’s prehistoric clay;
Whoso drew the longest bow,
Ran his brother down, you know,
As we run men down today.
“Dowb,” the first of all his race,
Met the Mammoth face to face
On the lake or in the cave,
Stole the steadiest canoe,
Ate the quarry others slew,
Died—and took the finest
grave.
When they scratched the reindeer-bone
Someone made the sketch his own,
Filched it from the artist—then,
Even in those early days,
Won a simple Viceroy’s praise
Through the toil of other men.
Ere they hewed the Sphinx’s visage
Favoritism governed kissage,
Even as it does in this age.
Who shall doubt the secret hid
Under Cheops’ pyramid
Was that the contractor did
Cheops out of several millions?
Or that Joseph’s sudden rise
To Comptroller of Supplies
Was a fraud of monstrous size
On King Pharoah’s swart Civilians?
Thus, the artless songs I sing
Do not deal with anything
New or never said before.
As it was in the beginning,
Is today official sinning,
And shall be forevermore.
Old is the song that I sing—
Old as my unpaid bills—
Old as the chicken that kitmutgars bring
Men at dak-bungalows—old as the Hills.
Ahasuerus Jenkins of the “Operatic Own”
Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley tone.
