But good show of ochre,—that's what fetches 'em,
Wimbledon! I'm not a Wolunteer.
Discipline don't suit this child—no fear!
But we 'ave fine capers at the camp,
Proper, but for that confounded scamp:
Punched my 'ead because I guyed his shooting.
Fan I fancied rather 'ighfaluting;
Ogled the big beggar as he propped me.
Would 'a licked 'im if she 'adn't stopped me.
August.