* TOMMY ADVISES *

Take your rifle from the rack:

Take your bay'nit from the shelf;

Clean your straps for marchin’ order,

An’ git ready for the Border.

For it ai n't no sham attack,

So you need n't kid yourself.

It's a ball an’ bay'nit action

With the perfect satisfaction

Of a medal, an’ a ribbon, and perhaps a clasp or two.

For a-doin’ of the little job your betters could n't do.

Pack your socks, an’ fold your shirt,

Wash your water-bottle out,

It'll make your marchin’ easy

If your boots are nice an’ greasy,—

An’ some dubbin would n't‘ urt.

You can chuck your weight about;

There's an‘ appy day before you,

When the civvies will adore you,

And the things wot used to shock‘ em will be favoured with a smile.

And your little faults an’ failin's wo n't be noticed for a while.

Git a guernsey out of store —

Winter's very cold above,

An’ the wind an’ rain will find you

If you leave your clothes behind you!

Trust your pretty self before

Any Quartermaster's love;

For there's no store to go unto

An’ no tailors’ shops to run to;

For it ai n't no ten days’ skirmish these manoeuvres wot you're in,

An’ a little flannel weskit‘ ides a multitood of skin!

Write your letters for the mail;

Tell your people all the news —

For your folks'll prize the writin’

Of‘ my son who's out a-fightin’.'

Do n't you spin an awful tale,

Just to give your mother blues,

For the day the boys are cryin’

‘ List o’ wounded, dead and dyin’!'

Will be tons of time for them at‘ ome to feel a trifle blue,

When they see a dozen Smiths are killed — and wonder which is you!