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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.”

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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 wagged along,
But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box,

So I didn't see nothin' wrong.

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'Twas after four in the mornin';

We 'ad to stop the fun,
An' we sent ’im ’ome on a bullock-cart,

With ’is belt an' stock undone;
But we sluiced 'im down an' we washed 'im

out,
An' a first-class job we made,
When we saved ’im smart as a bombardier

For six o'clock parade.

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There was two-an’-thirty sergeants,

There was corp'rals forty-one,
There was just nine 'undred rank an' file

To swear to a touch o'sun.

There was me 'e'd kissed in the sentry-box

(As l'ave not told in my song), But I took my oath, which were Bible truth,

l'adn't seen nothin' wrong.

There's them that’s ’ot an' 'aughty,

There's them that's cold an’’ard,
But there comes a night when the best gets

tight,
An' then turns out the Guard.
I've seen them ide their liquor

In every kind o' way,
But most depends on makin' friends

With Privit Thomas A.

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“MARY, PITY WOMEN!”

You call yourself a man,

For all you used to swear,
An' leave me, as you can,
My certain shame to bear ?
l'ear! You do not care-

You done the worst you know.
L'ate you, grinnin' there. .

Ah, Gawd, I love you so!

Nice while it lasted, an' now it is over-
Tear out your 'eart an' good-bye to your lover!
What's the use o' grievin', when the mother that

bore you
(Mary, pity women !) knew it all before you?

It aren't no false alarm,

The finish to your fun;
You—you ’ave brung the 'arm,
An' I'm the ruined one;

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