Verse > Anthologies > Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. > An American Anthology, 1787–1900
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Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).  An American Anthology, 1787–1900.  1900.
 
1711. The Recruit
 
By Robert William Chambers
 
 
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,        5
    Ye may not be dhrunk,
    But, be jabers, ye look it!
        Wan—two!
        Wan—two!
Ye monkey-faced divil, I ’ll jolly ye through!        10
        Wan—two!—
        Time! Mark!
Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!”
 
Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
    “A saint it ud sadden        15
    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!        20
        Wan—two!
        Wan—two!
Ye whiskered orang-outang, I ’ll fix you!
        Wan—two!—
        Time! Mark!        25
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        30
    Stick out like two bowlders;
    Yer shins is as thin
    As a pair of pen-holders!
        Wan—two!
        Wan—two!        35
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:        40
    “Me heart it ud gladden
    To blacken yer eye.
    Ye ’re gettin’ too bold, ye
    Compel me to scold ye,—
    ’T is halt! that I say,—        45
    Will ye heed what I told ye?
        Wan—two!
        Wan—two!
Be Jabers, I ’m dhryer than Brian Boru!
        Wan—two!—        50
        Time! Mark!
What ’s wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark!”
 
Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden:
    “I ’ll not stay a gadd’n
    Wid dagoes like you!        55
    I ’ll travel no farther,
    I ’m dyin’ for—wather;—
    Come on, if ye like,—
    Can ye loan me a quather?
        Ya-as, you,        60
        What,—two?
And ye ’ll pay the potheen? Ye ’re a daisy! Whurroo!
        You ’ll do!
        Whist! Mark!
The Rigiment’s flatthered to own ye, me spark!”        65
 

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