  Anywhere but here, Ned, Any bloomin hole, Golly! if it aint like tearin Body from yer soul! War's a bloomin sight too wearin: Home for William Towl! Once I uster think our village Took the prize for dead, Now I know it wor a Para- -dise around me head; Don't I wish as I could see it— Just a minute—Ned! Did I iver cuss my luck Fer comin' fore the Bench; Doin what I did fer poachin, Arter this ole trench Would be like a holiday At seaside wi' a wench. This is Hell, boy, don't ferget it, Hell wi'out the fun, Let me see a plough agen An you can ev my gun; You'll hear me shout across the sea When this damn war is done. |
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