A Pot of Tea

You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;

You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;

You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;

The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.

You're awful cold and dirty, and a-cursin’ of your lot;

You scoff the blushin’‘ alf of it, so rich and rippin’‘ ot;

It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:

God bless the man that first discovered Tea!

Since I came out to fight in France, which ai n't the other day,

I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;

All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,

To rum they serves you out before a charge.

In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;

I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin’ dam;

But‘ struth! they all ai n't in it with the vintage of Assam:

God bless the man that first invented Tea!

I think them lazy lumps o’ gods wot kips on asphodel

Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;

I only wish them sons o’ guns a-grillin’ down in‘ ell

Could‘ ave their daily ration of Suchong.

Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is‘ ell and‘ eaven too;

And if I do n't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,

To-night, by Fritz's campfire, wo n't I‘ ave a gorgeous brew

( For fightin’ must n't interfere with Tea ).

To-night we'll all be tellin’ of the Boches that we slew,

As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.