WE TOOK THE PLEDGE TILL MAY.

Dave Barker is a mate of mine, A solid mate and chum, And when we’re out upon the wine I guess we make things hum: We go the pace all fair and square, But rapid, I’ll allow; And start from—well, just anywhere, And wind up—anyhow. When Dave and me’s out on the loose We follers close and keen, And samples every kind of juice From rum to kerosene. It’s all good fish comes to our net, To Barker’s net and mine, And our intentions are, you bet! Most strictly genuwine. We beats about upon the ramp, And does up all our tin; Then Dave—well, Dave strikes out for camp, And I—well, I jines in. And then the panoramy starts— The queerest kind of fakes— Fat little blokes and smaller tarts, And funny bob-tailed snakes. And presently, a big galoot Drops down the chimbly flue, And takin’ up Dave’s blucher boot, Sez, “Lads! Here’s luck to you!” But all the time it’s bilin’ hot, And, spare me (crimson) days! You never heerd such blanky rot As what them fantods says. Well, comin’ on this last old year, I sez to David B., “Old chap, we pays a lot too dear These fan-tod fakes ter see. “We grafts and grinds and stints our grub, But if we socked our rent We soon could buy a blanky pub, Or stand for Parlyment. “What say to puttin’ in the peg? Swear off, old man!—what say?” Sez Dave, “I’m on—we’ll spike the keg Fer good and all, till May.” And then our two right hands we clasps The ’greement fer to bind; And felt like them there “Army” chaps Wot’s left all sin behind. If any tries to pull our leg This coming Hogmanay We’ll shout, “No, no! we’ve driv’ the peg Home flush and fast till May.” Well, Dave and me, we saunters down Along the bloomin’ street, And every ’quaintance in the town ’Ud want to stand us treat. They’d pull and press, and chaff and beg, Till ’t last we’d break away, A-shoutin’ “No! we’ve spiked the keg— No booze for us, till May!” Well, Dave, he comes from Aberdeen, And Sandy Mac. was tight: Sez Mac., “Old Scotland’s hills are green! One drink on Scotia’s night!” Then Dave he looks acrost at me, And I looks ’crost at Dave— It allus after seemed to be A kind of mootual “cave.” For Barker sidles to’rds the bar: “A whisky from the bin,” Sez he, “my gay young Lochinvar!” And I—well, I chimes in. That was a night—we drank and stept, And joined the Scotchy’s lilt, Till all the rest were drunk or slept, And all the casks a-tilt. Then, as we staggered home at four, It was a sight ter see A-troopin’ from our “rubby” door Our fan-tod familee! They tended on us jest like kings, And darnced around the bunk, And seemed, the ’fectionate little things, So glad to see us drunk! One smilin’ dwarf with flowin’ beard, He sang (as sure as sin) The sweetest song you ever heerd— “Our dad’s kem home agin!” And you may all take this from me, For gorspel truth to-day— The best way to injy a spree Is, Take the pledge till May.