Jessie Pope

I never have clung to a motor car,
Or crouched on a motor bike
Worry and scurry, clank and jar I cordially dislike
I do not care for grimy hair,

Twenty-Two stalwarts in stripes and shorts Kicking a ball along,
Set in a square of leather-lunged sports Twenty-two thousand strong,
Some of them shabby, some of them spruce,
Savagely clamorous all,

When Blucher helped us make an end Of Bonaparte, the common foe,
He came to England as a friend,
About a hundred years ago
The sight of London fired his breast,

NG along together, lads ; we'll have a little song,
Kits won't be so heavy and the way won't be so long
We're goin' to cook " the Sossiges," to cook 'em hot and strong While we go marching to Germany
Chorus Hurrah, hurrah,...

In heaven, a pale uncertain star,
Through sullen vapour peeps,
On earth, extended wide and far,
In all the symmetry of war,

Young Thompson was a bit too short,
But hard as nails and level-headed,
And in his soul the proper sort Of dogged pluck was deeply bedded ;
To join the ranks he almost ran,

By bridge and battery, town and trench,
They're fighting with bull-dog pluck;
Not one, from Tommy to General French,
Is down upon his luck

Foe and friend and foe again,
Turning coat and turning yet,
That's a feat you don't disdain,
De Wet

[The most noteworthy characteristic of a wet summer is the number of proposals made in the rain
] Beneath an Ilfracombe machine,
While thunderstorms were raging,
Strephon and Chloe found the scene Exceedingly engaging;

Cossacks they're coming
The eager hoofs are drumming,
On glinting steel the autumn sunlight glances
The distant mass draws nearer,

Darkness expectant, discreet Only a lamp here and there,
Gloom in the clattering street,
Stygian black in the square;
Dazzling fascias and fronts,

When I asked my dear Edwin to shave I'd never a thought of denial;
He'd been such an absolute slave,
I put his devotion on trial
But his eye threw a sinister dart,