That perish in the field.

Give them their food as they take the yoke …

And who shall be next to yield, good sirs,

For such a bribe to yield?

God rest you, merry gentlemen, and keep you in your mirth!

Was ever kingdom turned so soon to ashes, blood, and earth?

'Twixt the summer and the snow—seeding-time and frost—

Arms and victual, hope and counsel, name and country lost!

Singing:—Let down by the foot and the head—

[47]

Shovel and smooth it all!

So do we bury a Nation dead …

And who shall be next to fall, good sirs,

With your good help to fall?

[48]

THE IRISH GUARDS

1918

We're not so old in the Army List,

But we're not so young at our trade,

For we had the honour at Fontenoy

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