Whilst the pupil rubs his Indian ink
And the draughtsman wipes his pen
They still recount with wonder
The valour of those men.
And still we hear the story—told with mirth and glee,
In any West end office, where merry draughtsmen be.
Fragment from a Lay of Modern England.
(Picked up somewhere between Downing Street
and Khartoum.)
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