JOHN SMITH TO JOHANN SCHMIDT.
We thought you fellows over there,
Before this all begun,
Was queer in talk, but acted fair,
And paid your way, and did your share
Of things as should be done.
You made a lot of trashy stuff,
And ate some. All the same,
You beat us some ways sure enough,
And seemed like pals, though brought up rough,
For which you weren't to blame.
We reckoned when the trouble bust,
Remem'bring what you'd been,
You'd march to heel as you were cussed,
And so you'd fight because you must,
But still you'd fight us clean.
But now you've worked us murder-hot
With filthy tricks you've played;
And whether you were bid or not
Is nought to us; we hate the lot
What ordered or obeyed.
And so you're not the pals we thought,
But foes, these rougher days;
We're out against you till you're brought
To book, your Chief and you, and taught
To drop your bullying ways.
Now hear the truth. Your lives is poured
For reasons one and two:
He draws his bright and shiny sword
To make him one and only Lord
Of all the world—and You.
And when your roofs is tumbling in,
Your heads is cracked and cooled,
You'll think the glory middling thin
And hate the lying cheats like sin
To see how you've been fooled.
By then it's odds you feel inclined
To state the view you take
In words that's not so sweet and kind
But what they'll let them War-Lords find
You're suddenly awake.
Till then you're heathen swine! Get fit
To start and grow like men.
Turn round and do your level bit
Till brag and grab are past and quit,
And then we'll pal again.
Motto for the Turkish Army in the Caucasus:—"There ain't going to be no Corps."