The Recruit

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
                "Bedad, yer a bad un!
            Now turn out yer toes!
        Yer belt is unhookit,
        Yer cap is on crookit,
        Ye may not be dhrunk,
        But, be jabers, ye look it!
            Wan, two!
            Wan, two!
Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through!
            Wan, two!
            Time! Mark!
Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
        "A saint it ud sadden
        To dhrill such a mug!
        Eyes front! ye baboon, ye!
        Chin up! ye gossoon, ye!
        Ye've jaws like a goat,
        Halt! ye leather-lipped loon, ye!
            Wan, two!
            Wan, two!
Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you!
            Wan, two!
            Time! Mark!
Ye've eyes like a bat! can ye see in the dark?"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
        "Yer figger wants padd'n',
        Sure, man, ye've no shape!
        Behind ye yer shoulders
        Stick out like two boulders;
        Yer shins is as thin
        As a pair of pen-holders!
            Wan, two!
            Wan, two!
Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew!
            Wan, two!
            Time! Mark!
I'm dhry as a dog, I can't shpake but I bark!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
        "Me heart it ud gladden
        To blacken your eye.
        Ye're gettin' too bold, ye
        Compel me to scold ye,
        Tis halt! that I say,
        Will ye heed what I told ye?
            Wan, two!
            Wan, two!
Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru!
            Wan, two!
            Time! Mark!
What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
        "I'll not stay a gaddin',
        Wid dagoes like you!
        I'll travel no farther,
        I'm dyin' for, wather;
        Come on, if ye like,
        Can ye loan me a quather?
            Ya-as, you,
            What, two?
And ye'll pay the potheen? Ye're a daisy! Whurroo!
            You'll do!
            Whist! Mark!
The Rigiment's flattered to own ye, me spark!"

Robert William Chambers

Robert William Chambers (1865–1933) was an American artist and writer. Although he authored over 70 books, he is best remembered for his weird and supernatural fiction. His most famous work, 'The King in Yellow,' published in 1895, is a pioneering collection of interconnected horror stories that influenced several generations of writers. Before turning to writing, Chambers studied at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris and worked as an illustrator.

Robert William Chambers

Officer Brady, The Modern Recruit

Robert William Chambers, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Officer Brady, The Modern Recruit

            I

        Sez Alderman Grady
        To Officer Brady:
        "G'wan! Ye're no lady!
            Luk here what ye've done:
        Ye've run in Red Hogan,
        Ye've pulled Paddy Grogan,
        Ye've fanned Misther Brogan
            An' called him a 'gun'!

"Way up in Tammany Hall
They's a gintleman layin' f'r you!
'An' what,' sez he, 't' 'ell,' sez he,
'Does the villyun mane to do?
Lock up the ass in his shtall!
He'll rue the day I rue,
F'r he's pulled the dive that kapes me alive,
An' he'll go to the goats! Whurroo!'"

            II

        Sez Alderman Grady
        To Officer Brady:
        "Ye pinched young Mullady
            F'r crackin' a safe!
        An' Sinitor Moran
       ...

Robert William Chambers

The Odyssey of 'Erbert 'Iggins

Me and Ed and a stretcher
Out on the nootral ground.
(If there's one dead corpse, I'll betcher
There's a 'undred smellin' around.)
Me and Eddie O'Brian,
Both of the R. A. M. C.
"It's a 'ell of a night
For a soul to take flight,"
As Eddie remarks to me.
Me and Ed crawlin' 'omeward,
Thinkin' our job is done,
When sudden and clear,
Wot do we 'ear:
'Owl of a wounded 'Un.

"Got to take 'im," snaps Eddy;
"Got to take all we can.
'E may be a Germ
Wiv the 'eart of a worm,
But, blarst 'im! ain't 'e a man?"
So 'e sloshes out fixin' a dressin'
('E'd always a medical knack),
When that wounded 'Un
'E rolls to 'is gun,
And 'e plugs me pal in the back.

Now what would you do? I arst you.
There was me slaughtered mate.

Robert William Service

The Shut-Eye Sentry

Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant
To the Senior Orderly Man:
"Our Orderly Orf'cer's ~hokee-mut~,
You 'elp 'im all you can.
For the wine was old and the night is cold,
An' the best we may go wrong,
So, 'fore 'e gits to the sentry-box,
You pass the word along."

So it was "Rounds! What Rounds?" at two of a frosty night,
'E's 'oldin' on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your eye.
An' it was "Pass! All's well!" Oh, ain't 'e drippin' tight!
'E'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by.

The moon was white on the barricks,
The road was white an' wide,
An' the Orderly Orf'cer took it all,
An' the ten-foot ditch beside.
An' the corporal pulled an' the sergeant pushed,
An' the three they danced along,
But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box,<...

Rudyard

Mickey Mollynoo

A mile-long panto dragon ploddin' 'opeless all the day,
Stuffed out with kits, 'n' spiked with rifles, steamin' in its sweat,
A-heavin' down the misty road, club-footed through the clay,
By waggons bogged 'n' buckin' guns, the wildest welter yet,
Like 'arf creation's tenants shiftin' early in the wet.

We're marchin' out, we dunno where, to meet we dunno who;
But here we lights eventual, 'n' sighs 'n' slips the kit,
'N', 'struth, the first to take us on is Mickie Mollynoo!
A copper of the Port he was, when 'istory was writ.
Sez I : We're sent to face the foe, 'n', selp me, this is It.

A shine John. Hop is Mollynoo. A mix-up with the push
Is all his joy. One evenin' when his baton's flyin' free
I takes a baby brick, 'n' drives it hard agin the cush,
'N' Privit Mi...

Edward

Playing At Soldiers.

"Who'll serve the King?"


What little urchin is there never
Hath had that early scarlet fever,
Of martial trappings caught?
Trappings well call'd - because they trap
And catch full many a country chap
To go where fields are fought!

What little urchin with a rag
Hath never made a little flag
(Our plate will show the manner),
And wooed each tiny neighbor still,
Tommy or Harry, Dick or Will,
To come beneath the banner!

Just like that ancient shape of mist,
In Hamlet, crying "'List, oh, 'list!"
Come, who will serve the king,
And strike frog-eating Frenchmen dead,
And cut off Bonyparty's head? -
And all that sort of thing.

So used I, when I was a boy,
To march with military toy,
And ape the soldier's life; -

Thomas Hood

The Twa Jocks

Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska tae Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye:
"That's whit I hate maist aboot fechtin' - it makes ye sae deevilish dry;
Noo jist hae a keek at yon ferm-hoose them Gairmans are poundin' sae fine,
Weel, think o' it, doon in the dunnie there's bottles and bottles o' wine.
A' hell's fairly belchin' oot yonner, but oh, lad, I'm ettlin' tae try. . . ."
"If it's poose she'll be with ye whateffer," says Hecky MacCrimmon frae Skye.

Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gleska: "Whit price fur a funeral wreath?
We're dodgin' a' kinds o' destruction, an' jist by the skin o' oor teeth.
Here, spread yersel oot on yer belly, and slither along in the glaur;
Confoond ye, ye big Hielan' deevil! Ye don't realize there's a war.
Ye think that ye're back in Dunvegan, and herdin' the wee...

Robert William Service