“BOBS.”

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXV, Issue 274, 17 November 1914, Page 6

“BOBS.”

At the request of an old and esteemed subscriber we re-publish Kipling’s famous lines, which to-day Injve a melancholy interest to aP

There’s a little red-faced r an. Which is Bobs, Rides the tallest ’orse ’e can, Our Bobs. If it bucks or kicks or rears )E can sit for twenty years With a smile round both ’is cars, Can’t yer Bobs?

Thch ’ore’s to Bobs Bahadur, Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs’ ,’E’s our pukka Kandahader, Fightin’ Bobs, Bobs, Bobs. ’E’s the Dock of Che’,” ’E’s the man that done us well, And’ we’ll follow ’ira to ’el— Won’t we, Bobs? (Note —“Aggy Chel,” go ahead ) If a limber’s slipped a trace, ’Ook on Bobs; If a marker’s lost ’is place, Dress by Bobs; For ’e’s eyes all up ’is coat, An’ a bugle in ’is throat, An’ you will not play the goat Under Bobs. ’E’s a little down on drink. Chaplain Bobs, But it keeps us out ’er clink, Don’t it, Bobs? So we will not complain, Tho’ ’e’s water on the brain, If ’e had us straight, again, Blue-Ughtjßdbs, If you stood him on ’is head, Father Bobs, You could spill a quart o’ lead Out’er Bobs, ’E’s been at it thirty years An’ amassin’ souveniers In the way o’ slugs and spears— Ain’t yer, Bobs ? What ’e does not know o’ war, Gen’ral Bobs, You can arst the spoop next door, Can’t they, Bobs? Ob! ’e’s little, but .’e’s wise, ’E’s a terror for ’is size, And’ ’e does not advertise, Do yer, Bobs ? Now they’ve made a bloomin’ Lord Outer Bobs. ’ .*), Which is hut ’is fair reward, / Wgren’t it, Bobs An’ he’ll wear a coronet Where ’.is ’elraet used to set, But ,we know ,you won’t forget, Will yer, Bobs? -L v l ■ i C''" : i r. \ . .. i: Theil’efe’s to Bobs Bahadur, Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs ! Pocket Wellin’ton ah’ ‘'order”—-■ ‘Meritin’; Bobs' Bobs, Bobs! This ain’t no bloomin’ ode. But you’ve helped the soldier’s load, An’ for benefits bestowed, •’Arder a half,- bless yer, Bobs!