Hot from the guard-room’s reeking stew,
His spongy great-coat sodden through,
His head with senseless shako crowned,
The sentry walks rheumatic round.
And should civilian querist stray,
And question in his saucy way,
“What cheer, oh! Sentry, quickly tell.”
“In fact, all wrong: in word, All’s well!”
From guard-bed comrades’ steaming heap,
Turned out all standing, half-asleep,