The man in evening dress is much too stout,
He seems to draw his breath with obvious labour,
Whilst I—I beg your pardon, Right about—
Of course I bumped into my left-hand neighbour.
But take (as I observed) the fire beneath;
If ever foe should leap the shining margent
That laps our island like a liquid wreath
Then you would see us. Shimmering and argent,
"Out bay'nets!" we would snatch 'em from the sheath;
No 'shunning in that day, I think, O Sergeant.