[Arab makes a spasmodic wriggle towards him.]
2nd Trooper. Look out, Bill, 'e's going to bite your leg.
1st Trooper (with dignity). No, 'e ain't; 'e's a-going to kiss my boots. Gorblimy, 'e's a rum old devil!
Corporal (suddenly remembering his duty). 'Ere you, take your clothes off. Efta aygry. Strip.
[The Arab undoes his rags, which slip to the ground.]
2nd Trooper. Blimy, Alf, look at 'em. I never see such a thing in my life. Look at that big one on his neck.
1st Trooper (suddenly). I say, old chap, don't you never 'ave a bath?
2nd Trooper. Lord, though, ain't he thin? 'E's a fair skeleton.
[The Arab puts on his clothes again and falls exhausted with the effort.]
Corporal. Pore old feller, 'e's fair done; give 'im a biscuit, Alf.