Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1044 page)

Loot

If you’ve ever stole a pheasant-egg be’ind the keeper’s back,
 If you’ve ever snigged the washin’ from the line,
If you’ve ever crammed a gander in your bloomin’ ‘aversack,
 You will understand this little song o’ mine.
But the service rules are ‘ard, an’ from such we are debarred,
 For the same with English morals does not suit.
    (
Cornet
:  Toot! toot!)
W’y, they call a man a robber if ‘e stuffs ‘is marchin’ clobber
 With the —
(
Chorus
)  Loo! loo!  Lulu! lulu!  Loo! loo!  Loot! loot! loot!
               Ow the loot!
               Bloomin’ loot!
            That’s the thing to make the boys git up an’ shoot!
             It’s the same with dogs an’ men,
             If you’d make ‘em come again
            Clap ‘em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot!
    (
ff
)  Whoopee!  Tear ‘im, puppy!  Loo! loo! Lulu!  Loot! loot! loot!

If you’ve knocked a nigger edgeways when ‘e’s thrustin’ for your life,
 You must leave ‘im very careful where ‘e fell;
An’ may thank your stars an’ gaiters if you didn’t feel ‘is knife
 That you ain’t told off to bury ‘im as well.
Then the sweatin’ Tommies wonder as they spade the beggars under
 Why lootin’ should be entered as a crime;
So if my song you’ll ‘ear, I will learn you plain an’ clear
 ‘Ow to pay yourself for fightin’ overtime.
(
Chorus
)  With the loot, . . .

Now remember when you’re ‘acking round a gilded Burma god
 That ‘is eyes is very often precious stones;
An’ if you treat a nigger to a dose o’ cleanin’-rod
 ‘E’s like to show you everything ‘e owns.
When ‘e won’t prodooce no more, pour some water on the floor
 Where you ‘ear it answer ‘ollow to the boot
    (
Cornet
:  Toot! toot!) —
When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick down the chink,
 An’ you’re sure to touch the —
(
Chorus
)  Loo! loo!  Lulu!   Loot! loot! loot!
               Ow the loot! . . .

When from ‘ouse to ‘ouse you’re ‘unting, you must always work in pairs —
 It ‘alves the gain, but safer you will find —
For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs,
 An’ a woman comes and clobs ‘im from be’ind.
When you’ve turned ‘em inside out, an’ it seems beyond a doubt
 As if there weren’t enough to dust a flute
    (
Cornet
:  Toot! toot!) —
Before you sling your ‘ook, at the ‘ousetops take a look,
 For it’s underneath the tiles they ‘ide the loot.
(
Chorus
)  Ow the loot! . . .

You can mostly square a Sergint an’ a Quartermaster too,
 If you only take the proper way to go;
I
could never keep my pickin’s, but I’ve learned you all I knew —
 An’ don’t you never say I told you so.
An’ now I’ll bid good-bye, for I’m gettin’ rather dry,
 An’ I see another tunin’ up to toot
    (
Cornet
:  Toot! toot!) —
So ‘ere’s good-luck to those that wears the Widow’s clo’es,
 An’ the Devil send ‘em all they want o’ loot!
(
Chorus
)     Yes, the loot,
               Bloomin’ loot!
            In the tunic an’ the mess-tin an’ the boot!
             It’s the same with dogs an’ men,
             If you’d make ‘em come again
   (
fff
)  Whoop ‘em forward with a Loo! loo!  Lulu!  Loot! loot! loot!
            Heeya!  Sick ‘im, puppy!  Loo! loo!  Lulu!  Loot! loot! loot!

Lord Roberts

               1914
He passed in the very battle-smoke
  Of the war that he had descried.
Three hundred mile of cannon spoke
  When the Master-Gunner died.

He passed to the very sound of the guns;
  But, before his eye grew dim,
He had seen the faces of the sons
  Whose sires had served with him,

He had touched their sword-hilts and greeted
   With the old sure word of praise;
And there was virtue in touch and speech
  As it had been in old days.

So he dismissed them and took his rest,
  And the steadfast spirit went forth
Between the adoring East and West
  And the tireless guns of the North.

Clean, simple, valiant, well-beloved,
  Flawless in faith and fame,
Whom neither ease nor honours moved
  An hair’s-breadth from his aim.

Never again the war-wise face,
  The weighed and urgent word
That pleaded in the market-place-
  Pleaded and was not heard!

Yet from his life a new life springs
  Through all the hosts to come,
And Glory is the least of things
  That follow this man home.

The Lost Legion

1895
There’s a Legion that never was listed,
  That carries no colours or crest,
But, split in a thousand detachments,
  Is breaking the road for the rest.
Our fathers they left us their blessing —
  They taught us, and groomed us, and crammed;
But we’ve shaken the Clubs and the Messes
  To go and find out and be damned
                               (Dear boys!),
  To go and get shot and be damned.

So some of us chivvy the slaver,
  And some of us cherish the black,
And some of us hunt on the Oil Coast,
  And some on the Wallaby track:
And some of us drift to Sarawak,
  And some of us drift up The Fly,
And some share our tucker with tigers,
  And some with the gentle Masai,
                              (Dear boys!),
  Take tea with the giddy Masai.

We’ve painted The Islands vermilion,
  We’ve pearled on half-shares in the Bay,
We’ve shouted on seven-ounce nuggets,
  We’ve starved on a Seedeeboy’s pay;
We’ve laughed at the world as we found it, —
  Its women and cities and men —
From Sayyid Burgash in a tantrum
  To the smoke-reddened eyes of Loben,
                              (Dear boys!),
  We’ve a little account with Loben.

The ends of the Farth were our portion,
  The ocean at large was our share.
There was never a skirmish to windward
  But the Leaderless Legion was there:
Yes, somehow and somewhere and always
  We were first when the trouble began,
From a lottery-row in Manila,
  To an I. D. B. race on the Pan
                                (Dear boys!),
  With the Mounted Police on the Pan.

We preach in advance of the Army,
  We skirmish ahead of the Church,
With never a gunboat to help us
  When we’re scuppered and left in the lurch.
But we know as the cartridges finish,
  And we’re filed on our last little shelves,
That the Legion that never was listed
  Will send us as good as ourselves
                              (Good men!),
  Five hundred as good as ourselves!

Then a health (we must drink it in whispers),
  To our wholly unauthorized horde —

To the line of our dusty foreloopers,
  The Gentlemen Rovers abroad —
Yes, a health to ourselves ere we scatter,
  For the steamer won’t wait for the train,
And the Legion that never was listed
  Goes back into quarters again!
                                ‘Regards!
  Goes back under canvas again.
                                Hurrah!
  The swag and the billy again.
                                Here’s how!
  The trail and the packhorse again.
                                Salue!
  The trek and the laager again!

The Lovers’ Litany

Eyes of grey — a sodden quay,
Driving rain and falling tears,
As the steamer wears to sea
In a parting storm of cheers.
  Sing, for Faith and Hope are high —
  None so true as you and I —
  Sing the Lovers’ Litany:
 
“Love like ours can never die!”

Eyes of black — a throbbing keel,
Milky foam to left and right;
Whispered converse near the wheel
In the brilliant tropic night.
  Cross that rules the Southern Sky!
  Stars that sweep and wheel and fly,
  Hear the Lovers’ Litany:
 
Love like ours can never die!”

Eyes of brown — a dusy plain
Split and parched with heat of June,
Flying hoof and tightened rein,
Hearts that beat the old, old tune.
  Side by side the horses fly,
  Frame we now the old reply
  Of the Lovers’ Litany:
 
“Love like ours can never die!”

Eyes of blue — the Simla Hills
Silvered with the moonlight hoar;
Pleading of the waltz that thrills,
Dies and echoes round Benmore.
 
“Mabel,” “Officers,” “Good-bye,”
  Glamour, wine, and witchery —
  On my soul’s sincerity,
 
“Love like ours can never die!”

Maidens of your charity,
Pity my most luckless state.
Four times Cipid’s debtor I —
Bankrupt in quadruplicate.
  Yet, despite this evil case,
  And a maiden showed me grace,
  Four-and-forty times would I
  Sing the Lovers’ Litany:
 
“Love like ours can never die!”

The Love Song of Har Dyal

“Beyond the Pale” — Plain Tales from the Hills
Alone upon the housetops to the North
I turn and watch the lightnings in the sky —
The glamour of thy footsteps in the North.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die.

Below my feet the still bazar is laid —
Far, far below the weary camels lie —
The camels and the captives of thy raid.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!

My father’s wife is old and harsh with years,
And drudge of all my father’s house am I —
My bread is sorrow and my drink is tears.
Come back to me, Beloved, or I die!

The Lowestoft Boat

East Coast Patrols of the War
1914-18
Sea Warfare

In Lowestoft a boat was laid,
  Mark well what I do say!
And she was built for the herring-trade,
  But she  has  gone  a-rovin’,  a-rovin’,  a-rovin’,
  The Lord knows where!

They gave her Government coal to burn,
And a Q.F. gun at bow and stern,
And sent her out a-rovin’, etc.

Her skipper was mate of a bucko ship
Which always killed one man per trip,
So he is used to rovin’, etc.

Her mate was skipper of a chapel in Wales,
And so he fights in topper and tails —
Religi-ous tho’ rovin’, etc.

Her engineer is fifty-eight,’
So he’s prepared to meet his fate,
Which ain’t unlikely rovin’, etc.

Her leading-stoker’s seventeen,
So he don’t know what the Judgments mean,
Unless he cops ‘em rovin’, etc.

Her cook was chef in the Lost Dogs’ Home,
  Mark well what I do say!
And I’m sorry for Fritz when they all come
  A-rovin’, a-rovin’, a-roarin’  and a-rovin’,
  Round the North Sea rovin’,
  The Lord knows where!

Lukannon

I met my mates in the morning (and oh, but I am old!)
Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled;
I heard them lift the chorus that dropped the breakers’ song —
The beaches of Lukannon — two million voices strong!

The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons,
The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes,
The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame —
The beaches of Lukannon — before the sealers came!
I met my mates in the morning (I’ll never meet them more!);
They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore.
And through the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach
We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach.

The beaches of Lukannon — the winter-wheat so tall —
The dripping, crinkled lichens, and the sea-fog drenching all!
The platforms of our playground, all shining smooth and worn!
The beaches of Lukannon — the home where we were born!

I meet my mates in the morning, a broken, scattered band.
Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land;
Men drive us to the Salt House like silly sheep and tame,
And still we sing Lukannon — before the sealers came.

Wheel down, wheel down to southward; oh, Gooverooska go!
And tell the Deep-Sea Viceroys! the story of our woe;
Ere, empty as the shark’s egg the tempest flings ashore,
The beaches of Lukannon shall know their sons no more!

At the hole where he went in
Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin.
Hear what little Red-Eye saith:
“Nag, come up and dance with death!”

Eye to eye and head to head,
      (Keep the measure, Nag.)
This shall end when one is dead;
      (At thy pleasure, Nag.)
Turn for turn and twist for twist —
      (Run and hide thee, Nag.)
Hah! The hooded Death has missed!
      (Woe betide thee, Nag!)

Macdonough’s Song

“As easy as A B C” — A Diversity of Creatures”