Volume 153 — SEMPER EADEM.

A prisoner, Gunner Grogan, E., To-day will be brought up to me For impudence and sloth; Reveillé only made him sneer; Aroused, he lipped a Bombardier (And very natural—both). And I shall counter, with disdain, His feeble efforts to explain Or justify such deeds. It will be funny if I fail To twist young Gunner Grogan's tail, That being what he needs. I know he isn't really bad; Myself, I rather like the lad. (And loathe that Bombardier!) Beneath his buttons—none too bright— May lurk the spirit of a knight— A thwarted cavalier. For some who fought at Creçy, too, Snored on or scoffed when trumpets blew, And presently were caught; And when the clanking N.C.O.'s Came round to prod them, I suppose They up and spoke their thought. Then they were for it; up they went Paraded by the Prince's tent, While he, to meet the crime, Recalled the nastiest words he knew, And learned the worst that he could do From "K.R." of the time. And yet such criminals as those Did England proud with English bows As schoolboys have to read; And Gunner Grogan would to-day Prove every bit as stout as they Should there arise the need. But just as heroes of Romance, Who dodged parades with half a chance, Were strafed—and mighty hard— So likewise Gunner Grogan, E., Employed in making history, Will do an extra guard.