They black one's eyes, still on they come,
They butt one in the back and stom—
I mean the waistcoat, till the hall
Is more like battlefield than ball.
I'd rather serve in the Soudan,
I'd rather fight at Omdurman,
I'd rather quarrel with a chum,
I'd rather face a Rugby scrum,
Nay, by the stars, I'd rather be
That hapless wretch, the referee,