When a girl’s sixteen, and as poor… And she hasn’t a friend and she ha… Heigh—ho! She’s as safe in Paris… As a lamb night—strayed where the… And that was I; oh, it’s seven ye…

What are you doing here, Tom Thor… Where the wind has the cut of a na… Hugging a smudgy willow fire, deep… You that’s a lord’s own son, Tom… Go home, go home to your clubs, T…

In the wilds of Madagascar, Dwelt… For her hand young men would ask h… Oh that Boola—boola maid She was… And —when the day was done At the… As this ditty she was cooing, Cam…

They asked the Bard of Ayr to din… The banquet hall was fit and fine, With gracing it a Lord; The poet came; his face was grim To find the place reserved for him

Of course you’ve heard of the Nan… On her famous quest of the Arctic… For it was a foreign Prince’s whi… And a golden quid was no more to h… So we sailed away and our hearts w…

Behold! I’m old; my hair is white… My eighty years are in the offing, And sitting by the fire to—night I sip a grog to ease my coughing. It’s true I’m raucous as a rook,

The same old sprint in the morning… Chained all day to the same old de… Posting the same old greasy books,… Oh, how will I manage to stick it… We’ve bidden good—bye to life in a…

(16th January 1949) I thank whatever gods may be For all the happiness that’s mine; That I am festive, fit and free To savour women, wit and wine;

As I was saying . . . (No, thank… Cows weren’t allowed in the trench… As I was saying, our Colonel leap… “Come on, lads!” he shouts, “and w… Then some bally thing seemed to tr…

Sweet maiden, why disguise The beauty of your eyes With glasses black? Although I’m well aware That you are more than fair,

Don’t jeer because we celebrate Armistice Day, Though thirty years of sorry fate Have passed away. Though still we gaurd the Sacred…

You talk o’ prayer an’ such — Well, I jest don’t know how; I guess I got as much Religion as a cow. I fight an’ drink an’ swear;

I opened wide the bath—room door, And all at once switched on the li… When moving swift across the floor I saw a streak of ebon bright: Then quick, with slipper in my han…

Because I love the soothing weed And am of sober type, I’d choose me for a friend in need A man who smokes a pipe. A cove who hasn’t much to say,

Each morning as I catch my bus, A—fearing I’ll be late, I think: there are in all of us Two folks quite separate; As one I greet the office staff