| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1711. The Recruit |
| | | By Robert William Chambers |
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| 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!” | |
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| 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?” | |
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| 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!” | |
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| 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!” | |
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| 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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