I've just been sent from there. Is this a game?

The Sergeant:

You'll find it none, my son, if that's your tone.

The Showman:

You redcoats; ev'n your boots are not your own.

The Sergeant:

No, they're the Queen's; I represent the Queen.

The Showman:

Pipeclay your week's accounts, you red marine.

The Sergeant:

Thank you, I will. Now vanish. Right-about.

[Pg 41]The Showman:

[Pg 41]

Right, kick the circus in or kick it out,

But kick us, kick us hard, we've got no friends,

We've no Queen's boots or busbies on our ends;

We're poor, we like it, no one cares; besides

These dirty artists ought to have thick hides.

The dust, like us, is fit for boots to stamp,

None but Queen's redcoats are allowed to camp

 Prev. P 19/38 next